


In A Dreamer's Eyes

by ObsidianMichi



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Companion Eirwen, Companion Eirwen AU, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Inquisitor AU, Love Triangles, Multi, Romance, SMUTTY SMUT, Shorts, Slice of Life, Smut, WHEN EIRWEN POPPED SOLAS' EGO, character exploration, in another world, love pentangles, love quadrangles, smex, what if au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianMichi/pseuds/ObsidianMichi
Summary: When Solas returns with the Inquisitor to find a strange Dalish elf has stolen his office, he's not sure what to think. She's confusing, annoying, rude, and perhaps a little brilliant. No one is more surprised than Solas when he offers to let her use office to continue her research. Despite his best intentions to remain aloof, there is something about the Dalish First that the Dread Wolf finds fascinates him.Eirwen Lavellan is on a journey of spiritual discovery; seeking to understand her place in the world and her future as Clan Lavellan's Keeper. For her, the Inquisition is a place of opportunity. After surviving the destruction of the Conclave and watching her friend, Ellana Lavellan becomes the Herald of Andraste, she decides to stay to see where the path leads. A strange new land where the world's wonder's arrive to visit on a daily basis. She didn't intend to befriend the prideful, stiff, uptight elven Fade expert with the office perfectly positioned below the library, but his ego is so very fun to poke.It'd be easy enough to keep this strange friendship on an even keel, if only she'd stop kissing him in her dreams.





	1. Chapter 1

Solas was surprised to find a female elf with short orange hair camping at his desk in the rotunda on his return to Skyhold. A Dalish elf too by the look of her. A bit younger, he decided, than Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan. Though, perhaps, not by much.

She sat in his chair, with her knees poking off either side, and the large tome laid flat between bare thighs. One finger coiled around a short strand of orange hair. She bit her lip, muttering to herself in the rhythmic, quick, and slightly drawling language he’d come to recognize as Clan Lavellan’s particular version of elvish. The other hand traced along the page, and she stopped every so often to make notations on a piece of paper. Quill in hand, she ran her tongue across her upper lip. Ink blotches blackened her fingers and her pale wrist. Bright blue eyes widening as her head tilted.

His eyes moved sternly to the stack of unfamiliar books littering his desk, to charts, maps, and what seemed to be sketches of buildings. He wondered what happened to his work.

“Solas, are you alright?” Inquistor Ellana asked, striding in behind him. “After what happened with the raiders I wanted to…” she trailed off, clearly seeing what he hand. “Eirwen!”

So, Solas thought, that was the invader’s name.

Startled from her reverie, Eirwen Lavellan’s head lifted. “Oh!” Her eyes flicked from one face to the next, lips pulling in a sheepish smile. “We weren’t expecting you back for another fortnight, Ellana.”

 _We?_ Solas wondered, suppressing an irritated twinge. Were there more Dalish scoundrels holed up in his office?

“We returned early,” Ellana said. “I wanted to see how repairs to Skyhold were coming along.”

The elven girl’s eyes fell to the table and the resources she’d gathered. “Well…”

Ellana raised a hand. “I don’t want to hear it from you, I’ll talk about it with Josephine or Cullen.”

Eirwen’s eyes darkened for a moment, but her smile remained sunny. “Very well,” she said, setting her book aside and sliding to her feet. She offered a courtly Orlesian bow — a surprisingly graceful one. “If that’s what you desire, Inquisitor _._ ”

Solas glanced from one to the other, sensing the tension. From the way Ellana flinched, he suspected her new title on the lips of her own was a dig. He noted also Eirwen’s lingual shift, trading a strong Marcher accent in the earlier part of her sentence for Fereldan in the last. A signal she spoke more than one human language. _And she reads,_ he thought.

Ellana would not be caught near a book. She studied tomes at a distance with suspicion, like they planned to eat her. It was often a struggle to get her into the library at all. He sometimes found her embarrassment over her lack of ability charming, though her inability to admit it occasionally proved infuriating.

Ellana’s mouth set into a thin line. “Go, Eirwen.”

“I’d like to request her assistance,” Solas said. “It was a long trek back to Skyhold from the marshlands. I’d hate to be left cleaning this mess alone.”

“I could assist you, Solas,” Ellana said. “I’ve some free time before my meeting with Josephine.”

“I would not trouble you, Inquisitor,” he said, carefully. “You bore the brunt of danger on our journey. Out of us all, you are the most important, and therefore require the most rest. You’ve much left to see to here in Skyhold.” He noticed then, the redheaded Dalish’s expression shifted. She watched him contemplatively, as if what he said put her on guard. “I shall put the available help to good use.”

Ellana glanced at him, then she sighed. “Fine.” Her eyes returned to the other elf. “Fix this, Eirwen.”

Solemnly, Eirwen bowed her head.

Solas’ mouth pulled to the side. He found her gesture filled with false contrition. His eyes returned to the table, to the books. Despite himself, he was curious.

Ellana disappeared from the rotunda, her feet padding away into the distance.

“Well,” Eirwen murmured. “If you didn’t want to spend time with Ellana, you should’ve said.”

He crossed to his desk, intent on hiding his surprise. “When did you reach that conclusion?”

“If you wanted her to stay, you’d have asked,” the girl replied. “Instead, you complimented her so she’d leave.”

Solas paused, forcing his lips to remain still. “I am worried for her health.”

“Of course,” she replied, her tone even and diplomatic. “You did walk quite a long way, and Dalish hunters are unused to treks through the mountains.”

 _Cheeky,_ he thought. He didn’t know if he should be put off by her casual frankness or the fact she was correct. His eyes fell to the carefully orchestrated mess cluttering up the table. Instead of looking over the books for their titles, titles he discovered to be in several different languages. He reached for the small collection of notes on the desk’s far corner. Her quiet, if sharp gasp told him he’d moved exactly right. He lifted them off the table. “You’ve excellent handwriting.”

“I know,” she said.

His nose wrinkled. Whatever else, she’d written in elvish. That proved the Dalish did maintain a written language, though he’d seen no other evidence. “This looks to be a treatise on magic.”

Eirwen tilted her head, one brow lifting. “Is that surprising? I’m a mage.”

Yes, it was, Solas thought. Ellana was not. “You are looking to create…” he trailed off, the next word was unrecognizable, “walls?”

“Roads too,” she said. “It’s only a matter of time until Corypheus attacks again, and Skyhold is in an inconvenient position.”

He glanced at her.

“We need supplies and supply lines,” she continued. “Whatever else comes with this place, it’s not the center of civilization the way most capitals are.” She rubbed her nose. “Ellana will be receiving many visitors, it should be a little more convenient for them to climb here.”

His brows rose. That point was rather astute. When the eluvian network connected elvhen civilization across the world, Tarasyl’an Tel’as had been neither isolated nor unusual. Now, however, when the only means of travel was horse and wagon… “I had not expected a Dalish to think in such terms.”

“Of course not,” she replied easily. “We’re ignorant savages.”

Solas winced, he’d earned that. “Ir abelas, Eirwen Lavellan. It has been a long month.”

Waving him off, she leaned over his desk and began collecting the leather bound tomes. “There’s nothing to forgive. It’s just unfortunate timing. I’d intended to sequester this mess before you returned.”

Carefully, he lay her notes to the side and gathered up a few tomes himself. He took a moment to quickly examine each one before handing them over. Several on the magical practices of ancient Tevinter, a few on the magic of the Dales, and treatises on spellcraft from the Wycome Circle. _There is a great deal to forgive,_ he thought but refused to say it aloud. Instead, he asked, “if I may, why my office?”

Eirwen smiled. “The old biddies upstairs don’t like a nasty Dalish apostate pawing their precious books with her dirty fingers.”

He blinked, startled. He kept careful hold of the tomes in his hands, but cast an appraising glance in her direction. She was rather pretty, with a round face, button nose, and full lips. None of the ancient, high planed aristocratic features of his own people. Cute, the way her orange hair flopped across her brow. His gaze caught on the waxy divot cut across her left eye, a scar left by knife or sword. Elanna's features were more similar to his than hers, with high cheekbones, plump lips, long lashes, and raven black hair.

“Besides, Ellana often takes you with her so the rotunda is free for months on end.” Eirwen’s bright blue eyes latched onto him. “This is a prime spot, close but not too close and everyone else is of the opinion it’s haunted. Seemed a waste to leave it abandoned.”

“Then you should not,” he said, surprising himself.

She frowned.

“Your desire to aid the Inquisition is a worthy goal.” His eyes fell to her research, “as is recovering the knowledge to build roads and walls from magic. If you are successful, it will save the Inquisition a great deal of time and effort. You may use my study when I am not here.” His lips twitched. “Perhaps, when I am.” His eyes rose and he found once again found her gaze contemplative, mouth twisted into an odd line. She seemed more on edge, he decided. Like a wolf with hackles raised. Unsure. “I would not mind the company.”

“Odd,” she said. “Everything I’ve heard says you prefer to be alone.”

“Very well,” he sighed. “I’d not mind _your_ company.”

She frowned.

Solas swallowed a surge of frustration, quelling his vexed emotions. He knew the Dalish to be a prideful people, stubborn and suspicious. Slow to trust, though perhaps with good reason. He did not know why he was offering this one friendship, other than sympathy for her situation. They were both apostates, both knowledge seekers, and both elves. He too had once been looked on with disgust and fear. He felt a certain kinship, despite with the garish brands of Falon’din. “If you like, I may be able to utilize my position to request other research material for you.”

Eirwen looked away, her hands jumping behind her back. Her eyes rose to the library overhead, where the other scribes and mages softly murmured to one another. Her expression grew wistful, then she sighed. “I’m too short on offers to say no.”

Solas smiled, aware he’d won. Though, he wasn’t quite sure what.

“Ellana won’t like it,” Eirwen added.

“Allow me to explain this arrangement to the Inquisitor,” Solas replied.

She raised an eyebrow, her mouth pulling sideways.

He leaned forward, just a little. “Never fear, it will be settled.”

“Fine,” Eirwen sighed. “It’s your funeral.”

He chuckled. “I’d not think it was so dire.”

She glanced away. “I suppose.” Her eyes fell back to the desk. “Do you want me to clean this up or not?”

Solas reminded himself he still had work of his own that needed doing. “If you would settle these over there,” he gestured to the couch, “I’ll find a place for their safekeeping.”

Eirwen nodded, and without a word picked up the stack. Settling them precariously underneath her chin, she crossed the room to his couch. She set them down just as quickly. She spun about, dusting her hands. “And my notes?”

“I’d…” he paused. “I’d like to look them over if you don’t mind, my sources of knowledge are different from yours and the Fade is a vast trove.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I might be able to help,” Solas said. “Would you spurn aid offered freely?”

Eirwen sighed, and she turned away. “Keep them if you want, the writing was to practice. I’ve already memorized what I found.”

He opened his mouth, ready to ask what she meant by memorized but she’d disappeared out the door.

“I’ll see you,” she called.

Then, she was gone.

And he stood alone in his study with nothing but her notes in hand. They proved a fascinating read.

 

_In the night, in dreams..._

Solas stood on the ramparts of Tarasyl'an Tel'as, his hands grasped curling golden railings built of finely tuned magic glass. His eyes on the distant, green sky. He saw the silver and gold dots of cities floating far off in the distance. The endless prehistoric forests stretching out across the valley below. Trees nearly tall as mountains grew where the Temple of Sacred Ashes now stood before the blast destroyed it. This was the world before the Fall, he knew and the castle he once called home. It was built of graceful and winding glass. Gold, and silver, humming with a soft song. Tone of the air rising and falling in lilting, gentle notes. This was no boxy, cold, stone creation of men.

Home at last, he thought. Unable to quell the brittle bitterness, he turned away. His eyes moved to the sloping stairs leading down into the courtyard, to the fire flowers and star lilies Sylaise planted in the center of his overgrown gardens. The rays shining down warmed his cheeks and nose, his lips pulling into a lonely smile. There were spirits here, though the dreams of the hundreds mages now present in Skyhold sent them skittering into shadow. Where they hid, quiet as mice so as not to be discovered. It angered him that they felt it necessary, and saddened him. They were often his only available company, the ones in whose presence he might simply be Solas. Existing in simplicity with plagued by neither doubt nor fear, his purpose to discover new shores and lost knowledge. A general with no spies, who planned no wars, whose friendships anchored no betrayals.

He missed the bright colors of his homeland. All that existed now were drudging pale shadows and empty shells. Vacant in their ignorance as they wandered the land. Even the Inquisitor, who carried a part of him, was empty. She the best this world had to offer. A world which could be counted on for nothing except disappointment.

His eyes rose to the study the mountains in the west, and his breath caught in his throat.

The line of his dream ended at the courtyard. The far wall was a gray monstrosity, the blue-green sky a vague attempt by the Beyond at simulating modern Thedas. The world created by the Veil. His stomach clenched, knotted, and he was irrationally angry at the cold granite opposing him. It stood still and silent like a sanded mountainside.

With a sigh, Solas rubbed his forehead. His eyes trailed along the ramparts, toward the battered watchtower Cullen now called home. They caught on a bit of orange. Orange hair, he realized, and odd white triangles. A head tipped with a pair of pointed ears. He studied the back of an elf's head. 

He hurried across the courtyard.

The Dalish trespasser he'd met in his study leaned against the ramparts, her eyes on the sky overhead. A faint, wistful smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. Warm, ruddy cheeks paled under the moonlight. Her orange hair cut short in a style similar to those men he'd seen, rather than Ellana's long, black braid. She was thin and flat with barely any curves to speak of, her frame small from lack of consistent nutrition. With a scar from a knife or sword blow cut across her left eye. Eirwen Lavellan, he recalled. That was what Ellana called her, the First of Clan Lavellan. From what he knew of the Dalish it made her something of a noble herself, heir to Clan leadership. Though few here might realize it, and Dalish nobility counted for little.

Her hand lifted, tracing her cheek with her knuckles. A soft hum filled the air, her voice quiet and out of tune with the song she sang. As he stood still and silent, he heard her husky words emerge.

" _Lath sulevin,_  
_lath araval ena,_  
_arla ven tu vir mahvir,_  
_melana ‘nehn,_  
_enasal ir sa lethalin._ "

He recognized it as 'Suledin' and said nothing. As a mage, she did dream but the dreams of modern mages were thin. They touched the Fade lightly, wandered loosely without recognizing the spirits who walked beside them. It was possible she would not realize he was here, and therefore little reason to alter her to his presence. The Beyond was a collection of dreamers and dreams, home to the spirits but built on the foundations. If he drew to near a dream, he risked becoming trapped by it or trapped in it. The best solution when found in an uncomfortable situation was to play along until he could leave. 

After a moment, she glanced at him. "I didn't expect you here, but I did think you were handsome," she said, the blithe tone in her voice suggested she thought him part of her dream.

"Do you dream often of those you find attractive?" he asked.

Eirwen smiled. "Sometimes," her hands settled on the stone, "maybe I'm just tickled by what might happen in dreams. Given the opportunity to explore and learn, the dream becomes all the more tantalizing when it'd never occur after I woke."

He reached out, pausing and thought better of touching her. "Do you consider yourself so unattractive, Eirwen Lavellan? That I might be so blind as not notice such a pretty, young elf?"

Her bight blue eyes swung to him, and she giggled. "It's lovely to be seduced by a dream. They say whatever it is they think I want to hear." She rolled her eyes. "I know when someone is entirely focused on their work. The real Solas is interested in nothing except scraps of lost languages, the Fade, and the Inquisitor's hand. I doubt he'd notice a flirtation if he were pegged with a rock from a quarter mile off."

Solas hid a smile. "I might, after such an incredible throw."

Eirwen giggled. "Perhaps, if it came with a note that read, 'Sent from the Fade.'"

Solas leaned against the stone, watching her carefully. They fell into an easy rhythm, strangely comfortable in its way. He didn't know why he stayed rather than leaving his echo to her. Perhaps it was the fun in knowing she felt attracted to him, or the curiosity in her thoughts on beaning him with stones. He wanted to be offended. "Are you suggesting I am oblivious, Eirwen Lavellan?"

"Does it need suggesting?" she countered with a small smile. "I thought it was obvious."

He tsk'd with his tongue, a sound from deep in his throat. He steadied himself on the stone, so cool beneath his hands. Reminding him of the odd heat unwinding in his core. "Is mockery of potential partners a mating ritual among the Dalish?" he asked.

She snorted, spinning to face him. Taking a hop step forward, she leaned forward on her toes. Her head tilting as she grinned. "I will mock anyone and everyone who fails to notice my existence after I've constantly walked past them on my way to the apothecary for three weeks straight."

Solas swallowed. "I admit, in knowing that, the mockery is well earned."

Laughing, Eirwen grabbed his hands and pulled him toward her. "Ellana is fond of the real you, she'd be a bit irritated if I tugged his tail too hard."

"Ellana is fond of me?" That startled him. Ellana spent a great deal of time in his company, they traveled together and they chatted often but he had not noticed any feelings. He thought, perhaps, she flirted but her eye wandered easily. Easily as his had when he was young.  _Were I a young man again, I'd have no hesitance in bedding either of them._  He sighed, that thought did not comfort him.  _Were I young..._ Perhaps, the younger and more reckless self was who interested her. The one who seduced easily as he breathed. "No doubt she is."

Eirwen rolled her eyes. "Wander her dreams then."

"I've chosen to trespass in yours," he said. Interlacing her fingers with his, he drew her hands to his chest. "I'll remind you, Eirwen Lavellan. It was you who chose to dream of me."

Her eyes widened as the expectant crimson flushed her cheeks and turned her skin a rosy red. Lips pursing, she swallowed. "That is true," her soft, contemplative voice echoed in his ears, "that is very true." Her tongue wet her lips, pupils dilating. "This is a dream," she added, almost to herself. Her index finger traced his thumb. "There is no reason not to hold back."

"Not when it is only a dream," he agreed, in the moment he was what her dream should be.

Eirwen leaned forward, her lips brushing his. "Aneth ara, Somniari," she whispered. "Irassal ma ghilana vhenas." Then, her lips caught him and drew him down into her breathless warmth. Her mouth moved against his, squeezing his hands. 

Startled by how real her kiss felt, he let her pull him deeper and deeper until he forget it was a dream at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly just a collection of one shots involving Eirwen's experiences in the Inquisition if she wasn't Inquisitor and another Lavellan was. I guess it'll be multichapter, since I somehow managed to write twenty pages single spaced in a few days and that'd be a lot to post straight. 
> 
> As for why I wrote this fic, I sort of wanted to see who'd she'd be. I'd intended the other Lavellan, Ellana, to be in a relationship with Solas. Habit got the better of me, I guess. I'm sort of playing with the tropes I don't like, which happened on it's own. The kind Eirwen would never tolerate were she in a position of authority over Solas or required to look after the Inquisition. There'll be sex in the future, definitely. Lots and lots and lots of dream smooches too. The question, I suppose, is would Solas still be attracted to Eirwen if she didn't have the Anchor? Which he is (though he wouldn't be in game.) I mean, given how long I've been writing these two that shouldn't be a surprise.
> 
> I will say she wasn't supposed to fall head first into a relationship with Solas. Solas went there anyway. Damn that dude, he's probably gonna be a little OOC with a bit more Fen'Harel.
> 
> On Ellana, I don't know what will happen with her yet. Ellana Lavellan is a Dalish Hunter and a rogue. She's hasty, hotheaded, leads with her gut, and gets rather insecure when the people she wants to like her don't. Despite everything, her position as Inquisitor is the first time she's been a leader. She follows better, and she finds handling Inquisition business dreadful and taxing.
> 
> The song Eirwen quotes is "Suledin" from the DA wiki.
> 
> lath sulevin  
> lath araval ena  
> arla ven tu vir mahvir  
> melana ‘nehn  
> enasal ir sa lethalin
> 
> Be certain in need,  
> and the path will emerge  
> to a home tomorrow  
> and time will again  
> be the joy it once was
> 
> I mostly went with the default name because I'm lazy. If your Inquisitor is named Ellana then I'm sorry for the confusion.
> 
> Comments and commentary are always appreciated. I love hearing from you all.


	2. Chapter 2

_A few weeks later._

“I can hardly believe I let you convince me to come out for a drink,” Solas said, settling onto a bench in the Herald’s Rest.

“Well, you looked like you needed to get out,” Varric replied, passing him a mug. “Have an ale. It can’t be good for your health to be stuck in the rotunda all the time.” He laughed. “Besides, I’m curious. I hear you’re getting close to our resident Dalish First.”

Solas grunted. The clamor, the singing, and the drunken routes were both strangely satisfying and annoying. He’d already taken in Iron Bull’s mercenaries drinking on the far side of the room, celebrating another successful mission into enemy lands.

“Don’t want to talk about it, huh?” Varric nodded. “I won’t judge.”

“It is not what you think,” Solas said. “She is an interesting young elf with interesting projects.”

“Bright Eyes is pretty popular among the refugees.” Varric stroked his chin. “The kids love her stories, plus she’s handy at whipping up elfroot potions. The dwarven miners and architects out of Fereldan like her too, come to think of it. She always seems to be helping out somewhere. I’m just surprised by you, Chuckles. I didn’t think she was your type.”

He swallowed his exasperation. Outside one dream, perhaps two, there was nothing between them worth remarking on. There was some question whether she even remembered the dreams at all, and he certainly would not tempt fate by asking. What she dreamed of was her business, including whenever he was caught up in them. They simply kept... happening. “She is not. She simply wanted a place where she might work without disturbance.”

“So you offered up your study?” Varric asked with a grin.

“I offered to let her use my resources, yes,” he replied. “Her plans seemed…”

Varric raised a brow. “Worthy?”

“Yes!” Solas frowned. There was little point in him getting emotionally attached to anyone, and if he’d expected it at all (which he didn’t) then the Inquisitor’s friendship came to mind first. “Are you alone in thinking I’m...” he swallowed, “attracted to the girl? Or is this a common rumor? She is not the only mage in Skyhold I research with.”

“Most people here don’t know what to make of you,” Varric replied. “Given your vocal dislike for the Dalish, I doubt they think you’ve got designs on Clan Lavellan’s First.”

“That is well then, because I do not.”

“Still, they haven’t seen the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching,” Varric added. “And don’t try to pretend. I saw you the other day when she was doing that weird, magical stone juggling.”

“She is learning to summon rocks and flatten them into roads,” he replied absently.

“Yeah, that,” Varric said, and paused. “Shit, really?”

“Yes,” Solas said. “She wants to help the Inquisition build better infrastructure so visitors may reach Skyhold more easily.” Hastily, he took a swig from his mug. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she managed it soon, she’s a remarkably quick study.”

“She’s ambitious, I’ll give her that.” Varric raised a brow. “I’ll bet she speaks a bunch of languages.”

“She writes in three,” Solas sighed. “Given her fluency, it would not surprise me if she spoke more. I asked her to help me translate some ancient elvhen documents, she did… better than expected.”

“So that’s your weakness, huh?” Varric chuckled. “A brainy elven lass into magic, with a knack for public service and good works.”

He rubbed his temples. “I’ve no romantic inclinations toward anyone, Varric.”

“Sure, Chuckles,” Varric nodded. “I’ll bet it doesn’t help she’s Dalish.”

Grinding his teeth, Solas looked away. “Did you invite me out to needle me over my friendships?”

“I’m just surprised in you taking up a roommate, you usually value your privacy.”

“She is not living with me,” he said.

“You used to only nap with the Inquisitor and Cole,” Varric replied.

Solas sighed. “We do not nap, Varric.”

Varric shrugged, and took a swig from his mug. “If you say so, Chuckles. I just… wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

Solas glanced at him, suddenly struck. “Why?”

“Well,” Varric sighed. “I talked to Bright Eyes a few days ago.”

Frowning, he leaned forward. Had she said something about him?

“Ellana’s been riding her pretty hard, Chuckles. I’m not sure what’s going on there, but they’ve got some sort of… rivalry, I guess. Difference of opinion, maybe. It’s something they were supposed to sort out on the journey over.”

Solas nodded, there’d been tension between the two when he’d first met Eirwen. He’d felt it then, but Ellana never mentioned what it was about. In fact, she’d never mentioned there being another survivor from Clan Lavellan present at all. “The Inquisitor has been rather icy lately.” He neglected to mention her sudden interest in his activities, she came to talk to him nearly every day now. He hadn’t seen a glimpse of Eirwen since those visits began. “Though she’s grown more interested in... elven studies.”

Varric snorted. “Bright Eyes said she’d be going down to scout around Haven for a few days to smooth things over. At least until Ellana leaves for Orlais.”

“All reports indicate there are still Red Templars in Haven,” Solas said.

Varric nodded. “Lots of red lyrium too up at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but she’s still going.” He sighed. “Said I was worrying too much.”

Solas studied the bubbling brown surface of his ale. He did not enjoy the knot tensing in his stomach. It was not his place to tell the girl what to do, yet he worried. It worried him that he did. Worry meant attachment, and he did not like it. “Does she have anyone’s approval?”

“I asked Cassandra about it, and she said Cullen offered Bright Eyes a safer assignment out in the Dales but the kid didn’t take it.”

“The Dales are no safer. They’ve bandits, renegade soldiers, Venatori, Red Templars, and an Orlesian civil war,” Solas said dryly. “One might as well ask her to dive into a lyrium pool or travel to see the dwarves in Orzammar.”

Varric shrugged. “I figured you should know, anyway. She’s stubborn and headstrong like most Dalish, but hardy. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Leliana thinks she’s up to the task, and Bright Eyes has a history of traveling alone. Don’t let it bother you too much.”

Solas swallowed, his knuckles drumming on the table. He’d no reason to worry. Whatever fate awaited Eirwen Lavellan around Haven was none of his concern, he’d more important matters to attend to. Stopping Corypheus chief among them. No time to be chasing after one young elf. Not when Inquisitor Lavellan finally seemed interested in what guidance he might offer. “Thank you for informing me, Varric.”

Varric nodded, and swallowed another mouthful of ale. He seemed a bit more somber than he’d been before.

Solas found he couldn’t blame him.

They sat for a moment in silence as the tavern raged about them. Full of laughter and cheer, with the local bard singing ballads about their latest triumphs.

“Actually,” Varric paused. “Come to think of it, I’m not on the docket for the Inquisitor’s excursion out into Orlais and I’m more familiar with the area around Haven.”

Solas glanced at him, surprised. “I did not realize you were so fond of her.”

“It’s hard not to like Bright Eyes,” Varric replied. “She always drops in to chat after she leaves your study or when she’s winding through the nobles, even when she’s in a hurry. We play a game of Wicked Grace and she asks for stories about Hawke. Clan Lavellan ranges up in the area around Wycome.” He chuckled. “She’s heard lots of tall tales. Most of them mine, of course.”

“I see,” Solas murmured. He didn’t know if he should thank Varric again, as the dwarf wasn’t offering to go in his place. Varric clearly had a friendship of his own, and nothing better to do. Though, he thought, the suggestion did give him a little peace of mind. He’d certainly be distracted by the idea of Eirwen down in Haven alone, and he worried over those fears.

The girl had barged into his study only a scant few weeks past, there was no reason for him to be attached. Despite her medical interest in cures for the common cold, and the occasional insistence he be the dummy for one of her silly herbal remedies whenever he even hinted at a cough. It combined with a gentle reminder that she was at odd ends with no one to look after. Forcing him to drink the gross hot leaf juice provided a means of coping as Ellana certainly wouldn’t allow the Dalish First to mother her.

He sighed. Whatever his feelings, they were nothing he could act on. Besides, Ellana had begun giving him every opportunity to escape them, and she was a higher priority.

“Don’t worry, Chuckles,” Varric said. “She’ll be fine.”

_The issue is I do, Varric,_ Solas thought, taking another swig of his drink. _I do when I should not, and when I’ve no reason to._ _I worry more as she didn’t mention her trip._ He rubbed his forehead, perhaps this was a conversation they’d need to have. Though, he knew, saying nothing made for a safer choice. _Her boundaries are her boundaries, she will tell me what she tells me and the rest simply does not matter._

Yet, it did.

Solas knew then, he wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of this desire for a conversation. Though, he did not know what he’d say or do. He just wondered why she hadn’t mentioned it. He ignored the irrational surge of... something… it felt a little like jealousy, but that was ridiculous. Cassandra knew because she was involved with Cullen in troop assignments, Leliana knew because she was Leliana, and Varric knew because he’d overheard it mentioned. All were simply in positions with better access.

Withholding a sigh, he resolved to finish his ale. It would not do to go rushing off, regardless of how antsy he felt. Such action would only serve to confirm Varric’s suspicions about feelings he certainly did not have for the young Dalish mage. Feelings that were absolutely not romantic, not in any sense. To begin with, she was far too young for him.

“You know, Chuckles,” Varric murmured. “If you squeeze that mug any harder it’ll break.”

He blinked, eyes dropping to where white knuckled fingers clenched his mug. “Ah,” he swallowed. “Forgive me.”

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing,” Varric said. “Bright Eyes probably didn’t tell you because she doesn’t want anyone to worry. She’s like that, you know.”

Exasperated, he sighed. “I am not worried by what she does or does not tell me. We certainly have not known each other long enough to engender any sort of trust. A few weeks is hardly a lifetime, Varric.”

“That’s what logic’s telling you,” Varric replied. “Your heart’s got another consideration, you might want to try listening to it.”

“My heart is not worth placing above the fate of the world,” he said.

Varric shrugged. “Take it from someone who has been here before, Chuckles. The world’s not worth saving if there’s no one waiting at the end of it.”

Solas glared at him.

“Make that stink eye at me all you want, it won’t change anything.”

With a sigh, Solas leaned back on the bench. His gaze once again swinging about to survey the room. Eye catching on a familiar orange head coming through the door, his heart froze in panic. He glanced at Varric, but the dwarf had taken an intense interest in the contents of his cup.

Eirwen crossed the room. She walked lightly, her eyes surveying the crowd. He was grateful she didn’t glance in his direction. There was a delicate hesitance to the way she moved, a quiet restraint. The feelings he occasionally noticed in her eyes that never reached her face. Now, watching her, he realized she was uncomfortable in crowds. The congenial way she smiled at the tavern keeper when she reached the bar, both simultaneously genuine and fake. The tightness in her shoulders when she joked with the Templar sitting on a stool. The nervous way her fingertips brushed the scar across her left eye after she received her drink, her lashes narrowed slightly from memory.

_The Templars,_ he realized suddenly. To them, she was an apostate just like himself. _They are involved with her scar, somehow._ Perhaps one of them had given it to her. He never asked her how she received it nor where it’d come from. Had he been respecting her privacy? Or did he simply choose to ignore it?

He noticed a human approaching from the other side of the room. They seemed particularly drawn to elven women, though he wasn’t sure what to make of that. The average rank and file steered away from Ellana. That or they were diverted by one of their superiors. Outside of a small select group, the Inquisitor was untouchable. The other elves in the Inquisition had no such luck when it came to suitors.

Eirwen greeted the boy with another of her cheery, false smiles.

Solas remembered the wary glance she’d given him the day they met, and the worn sad expression whenever he broached the subject of Ellana. _Varric is right, she does not mention what bothers her because she does not want anyone to worry._ She did not put her trust in anyone, and he found he could not blame her. Her instincts were excellent. He’d only betray that trust in the end.

Annoyed, he found himself on his feet and crossing the bar. Coming up behind her, he lay a hand on her shoulder. “There you are, lethallan,” he said, aware he’d never referred to her as blood kin before. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

She glanced at him, and he caught a momentary frown. Then, he saw relief as a genuine smile curved her lips. “Oh, is that so, lethallin?” she tilted her head. “I suppose we’d best talk.” She glanced back to the human, her posture all apologies. “Ir abelas, Stephen. We’ll grab a drink another time.”

The boy nodded, though he appeared disappointed.

Deftly, Solas lay his hand on the flat of her back and steered her away. “Forgive me,” he murmured when they were far enough away, “you looked to be in need of rescuing.”

“I was, I suppose,” she answered. “I just never considered you to be the rescuing kind, _lethallin_.”

“Shall I choose to ignore that insult?” he wondered aloud. “I believe I will.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Where are we going?”

“Varric is here if you’d like to sit with him,” Solas said, though he found himself reluctant to. He did not pause to wonder why. “You may find him more pleasant company.”

“Shall I choose to ignore that self-deprecation?” she echoed. “I believe I will.”

He sighed.

She didn’t fight him when they headed for the stairs. “Varric would be a nice diversion and he did invite me, but I think you said you wanted to talk. Besides, there’s no more room at his table.”

Varric invited her? He glanced across to where the dwarven bard nursed his ale, now surrounded by twenty other Inquisition soldiers. _That dwarf is a meddlesome, inveterate matchmaker,_ Solas decided irritably. “I believe the upstairs should be quiet, and mostly empty.”

“Perhaps we’ll see Cole,” she said.

Solas swallowed, this was not a state he wanted Cole to see him in. Too many questions, and those question led to uncomfortable answers in the worst possible moments. “Perhaps,” he agreed quickly, wondering if she’d ask questions should she discover he wanted to avoid Compassion. After all, he was the Fade expert with a professed love of spirits. Wanting to avoid a spirit would potentially require an explanation for why he wanted to, and hurt Cole’s feelings in the process.

Eirwen paused the moment they reached the second floor, when there were far fewer local gossips watching them. She spun around and lay her palm on his forehead. “Solas, are you feeling well? You look a little pale.”

He swallowed. “I am in the best of health, there’s no need to worry. Though, I appreciate your concern.”

She raised a brow.

Gently, he removed her hand and gave it a soft pat. “Truly, Eirwen.”

Lifting her drink to her lips, she shrugged. “If you say so. Do you want to sit down?”

“That is preferable. I’m afraid we’d attract more attention standing,” he said, then winced and wondered if he’d offended her. The way he said it suggested he did not want to be seen together.

Eirwen peered at him, then she shook her head. “You’re very odd today, Solas.”

He shrugged, and led her to a table in the far corner. “I am a bit off, I suppose. Varric invited me here as he did you but the tavern is more for Iron Bull or Sera, not usually where I prefer to…” he cut off, realizing he was babbling.

She leaned forward expectantly, resting her chin on her hand. “Lay down your hat?” she asked when he failed to continue.

“That is a human saying,” he said.

A small smile tucked into the corners of her mouth. “I know, it’s Fereldan. Rellian, one of the servant boys told me yesterday that I’d chosen to…” she frowned, “lay down my hat with the Inquisition. So, I thought I’d give it a try.”

He swallowed. He admired her ferocious need to learn, and the way she began discovering to utilize learned terminology. “Then, in this case, your phrase works well enough.”

“It’s like the human fascination with butts,” she tapped her lower lip. “I’m still learning all the various vulgarities, but they often have something to do with asses and butts.” She giggled, popping her lips into a buzzing sound. “Butt. I just like the word. The phrases are so colorful and alliterative.” Her tongue slid over her upper lip. “My butt, your butt, his butt, her butt, butt, butt, butt.”

Solas sat very still, realizing it took a great deal of composure to stall the flush creeping up his neck. He reminded himself swiftly she was not flirting with him. The elven language had different terms for their body parts. Modern elven was not dissimilar from ancient elvhen in that sense. He recalled the more vulgar terms, but squelched the idea of contributing. If he engaged with this direction or teasing her desire for knowledge, then he would be flirting. There was no other way to discuss such things in their tongue. “As always, you are fascinated by language.”

“Words speak to the spirit,” she said, dragging her fingertip about the curve of her mug. “They’ve a cadence all their own. If we learn to speak the music of our separate languages, we may understand each other better.”

He blinked, suppressing his surprise. There were times when she took an amusing concept and transformed it into a show of wisdom. He admired that tendency. Found her goal admirable. Knowledge not simply for knowledge’s sake, but to create new connections and opportunities for her people. Though, he supposed, the Dalish may not want what she offered.

“How are things with Ellana?” she asked, suddenly.

“Well,” he replied. “I believe she is taking more of an interest in the Anchor and her role as Inquisitor. She has been working quite hard of late.”

Eirwen nodded, her smile small and wistful. “I’m glad.”

“Varric…” he began, unsure how to say it. “Varric says you intend to travel to Haven over the next few days.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said. “It’ll certainly be weeks before I return, perhaps a month.” Her lips rested against the back of her hand. “Perhaps…”

_Never,_ he finished and the thought left him a bit sick.

“It’s important to see where the danger is before we send in the troops,” she said. “All my scrying suggests the town is recoverable, only Corypheus’ stragglers remain. They shouldn’t be too difficult to pick off.”

_You are a mage,_ he wanted to say. _They are Templars. Whatever else you may believe of your skills, you should not face them alone._ Instead, he smiled tightly. “The Red Templars are a blight on the land, spreading their corruption and taint. Ridding the world of them is a worthy task.”

“I’m glad you think so, Solas. When they’re gone, we’ll have a place to put the refugees.” She sighed. “They’re overcrowding the wards now, and Skyhold doesn’t have enough beds to hold them.” Her lips pursed. “There’ll be thousands more when this is through, perhaps hundreds of thousands. We need camps, but Josephine tells me that’ll take more resources than the Inquisition has.”

“Is that why you intend to go alone?” the question left his lips before he could stop it.

She blinked, then she frowned, and then her lips pulled sideways irritably. “I’ve faced Templars out to catch and kill me before. The lyrium blighted are mad and therefore less dangerous.” Her eyes fell. “It isn’t a suicide mission.”

“I never suggested it was,” he said hurriedly. “I merely wondered why you have not asked one of us to go with you.”

She tilted her head, her gaze questioning.

“Only three of the Inner Circle will go with Inquisitor Ellana to Orlais,” he continued patiently, seeing Varric’s plan emerging before his eyes. “That leaves the other six behind, they would not be too far from Skyhold should the Inquisitor have need of them. Leliana’s ravens surely would be able to find you.”

“I…” she looked away. “They’re… you’re here for Ellana. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I am certain if you mentioned your plan to any of us, we’d be more than willing to assist,” he said. _Such as myself._ “Iron Bull certainly,” _ask me,_ “or Varric,” _I am here,_ “or Cassandra, who certainly has reason to loathe these fallen Templars. Blackwall proved himself out to protect the good, he’d aid the refugees if not you. Even Sera,” he coughed, “might find it in her heart to cause mischief on your behalf.”

Eirwen sighed, her cheek rested on her fist. “Ellana will ask you to go with her to Orlais. Maybe Dorian, as she loathes Madame de Fer. With… Cole as the last addition, perhaps? That will leave Blackwall, Varric, Iron Bull, Cassandra, Sera, and Vivienne here.” She groaned. “Commander Cullen insisted I take someone with me, and said if I didn’t he’d come himself. Which… I’d rather eat tree bark.” She traced her finger along the wood grain. “Still, none of them are suited for a quiet trek across the mountainside. Varric and Sera are both better suited to stealth in the cities. If asked for my opinion, you’d be the best choice for this sort of mission. You’re almost quiet enough.”

He took a moment to fluff his ego.

“I’d ask Harding but she’s on an advanced scouting mission in the Dales,” her mouth yanked sideways. “Given all possibilities, it’d be less dangerous if I went alone.”

“If that is the case, I suppose I must request Ellana choose another more suitable to visit Val Royeaux with her.”

Her eyes widened. “No, Solas. I couldn’t ask that of you.”

He waved a hand. “There is no need to ask, I have made the choice.”

“Val Royeaux is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Eirwen said. “All the texts say the city is marvelous with white marble columns and filled with heavenly Chantry music. A bustling metropolis fit to house whatever glory Orlais claims. A marvel of architecture and engineering, that’s not an opportunity one gives up!”

Solas stared at her, lips tensed to hide a laugh. One of her hands had reached across the table to grip his, and he’d now discovered her eyes shone when she grew eager. “Perhaps, I should suggest Ellana take you and I will hunt the Templars. The forest outing sounds more pleasant.”

Her giddy expression fell, and she bit the inside of her cheek.

Remorseful over curbing her enthusiasm, Solas gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Though, I do admit I’d looked forward to tasting their frilly cakes.”

A half-smile returned to her lips, and she laughed. “I suppose.”

“I might see Val Royeaux any time I like in the Fade,” he added. “The experience there would be far less cumbersome.”

Eirwen studied their hands for a moment. A frown marred her brow as she considered, her free hand running up and down the side of her mug.

Solas tried not to be distracted. Perhaps it was the ale he’d drunk earlier, but he’d begun imagining those delicate fingers somewhere very different. A place entirely inappropriate for polite company.

“I think,” Eriwen temporized, her voice careful, “Ellana would like to share the experience with you.”

He felt… odd. The way she gently nudged him toward Ellana bothered, just as Varric’s nudging him toward her did. Though, perhaps, she was right. Travelling with Ellana to Val Royeaux would be more useful than a thousand wilderness excursions to curb Eirwen’s more suicidal impulses. She, after all, did not matter in the grand scheme. She understood the gravity of their situation, she knew what was necessary. He should be grateful for that tacit and unspoken wisdom, yet he found himself stubbornly rebelling against her request. He wondered instead when the last time was she’d been asked what she wanted. He wondered why Ellana seemed to resent her. Found himself offended by the way she politely vacated her position and allowed another to step into it. She did not lack backbone, he knew. He’d witnessed moments of her snark, her sarcasm, and her barbs before they vanished behind that polite mask. Her seeming indifference troubled him, and he did not know why.

_If you wanted her to stay, you’d have asked. Instead, you complimented her so she’d leave._

He missed the frank and open intelligence behind her astute observation, when she hadn’t worried about offending him. Now, he’d been neatly categorized into some outsider group. Almost as if he were a possession to be booted from one Dalish girl to the other. He found that the most frustrating of all. He did not understand it either. “I never asked about your relationship with the Inquisitor, why you choose to stay.”

She studied him for a moment with her bright blue eyes. “I suppose it might seem strange on the surface and, maybe, a bit hostile.” Pushing her fingers through her hair, brushing back orange bangs. “Still, it... isn’t what you’re thinking.”

He leaned forward, suddenly restless.

“Besides, I can’t say I don’t deserve the way she treats me,” Eirwen added. “Ellana is worried. She wants me to return home. She’s just terrible at showing concern, and it turns to hostility. Badgering or emotional bullying become means of getting what she wants.”

Solas swallowed, he supposed that answered a few questions though it opened up several more. Ellana’s hostility toward another member of her Clan bothered him less. He’d not wanted to be the cause of their tension. The idea he might seemed silly now too. His mind should not have traveled in that direction. Ellana lashing out at Eirwen for the reasons she stated were far more worrying. “I see, it is only natural she would want her family somewhere safe and away from the fighting.”

“Oh,” Eirwen paused, her lashes fluttered. “No.”

“No?” He hid his confusion.

She took a quick swig of ale, her nose wrinkling at the taste. “Ellana doesn’t want me to leave the Clan.”

Carefully, Solas made a study out of the wood grains on the table. Out of all the answers he expected, the idea Eirwen might be considering leaving the Dalish hadn’t been one of them. Ellana seemed perfectly content, perfectly proud of her people. She did not ask questions. He’d assumed Eirwen to have similar opinions. They were of the same Clan.

“You’ve said before our Keeper was wise to take an interest in the affairs of humans, but you never asked why she sent me.”

“A Dalish First did seem an odd choice,” he agreed. “From what I understand you are the future leader of your Clan, are you not? A risk, certainly, to send you to a Conclave filled with Templars.”

Eirwen bit her lip, her eyes narrowed. Considering, he realized. She sat still and in silence for some time, and he stayed in silence with her. “Deshanna felt it was important I see the world,” she said. “She wanted me to experience how the shemlen lived, so I could make my decision.”

Solas blinked, and found himself leaning ever closer. He’d not expected that attitude either. “I do not suppose you will explain why the opinions of the humans might be under consideration in choosing a future Keeper.”

Eirwen smiled. “I didn’t go to understand them, Solas. This journey is about me, about who I am and what I want.” Her eyes swept over her ale. “Keeper knew I needed to understand my options.”

“There are few in this world for mages and elves, fewer still when both traits are combined,” Solas countered.

Her finger circled the mug’s lip. “Our way, the Dalish way, is only one way of living. There’s more to this world than just us. A Keeper must be able to see what others can’t.”

“I see,” Solas murmured, though in truth he didn’t.

“I planned to go alone, but Ellana overheard,” Eirwen continued. “She insisted she come.” Her lips twitched. “To protect me from my stupid choices, those were her words.” Then, her smile faded. “Poor Ellana, she doesn’t understand.”

“She is frightened then that you will never return,” Solas said. “I confess, I do not see why you would not. It is your duty to carry on the traditions of your people.”

“Among the Dalish, we believe a decision made for the wrong reasons corrupts both the work and its purpose,” Eirwen replied, her voice even. “This choice must be made for the right ones, with a clear heart and mind. I have worked hard to become Keeper, but I…” she trailed off, “I have doubts. I want to know if this path is the right for me.” Her fingers interlocked, both hands clenched together on the table. “I need to see clearly.”

He wondered if she’d planned to say something else.

“A Keeper is more than a leader,” she added softly. “We are our Clan’s spiritual guides, a source of wisdom and ancient knowledge. It is our duty to see the Clan through hardship, and aid them in the discovery of their purpose. I suppose,” she tapped her chin, “I’ve more in common with Chantry sisters than Circle mages, closer to Cassandra and Leliana than Vivienne.”

“I see,” Solas nodded, though he found he did not know what else to say. At least, he did not without additional condescension.

“Ellana doesn’t...” Eirwen sighed. “For her, Clan Lavellan is her home. Among the Dalish, a member of our Clan leaving our forests is the greatest sin. We should not be in the Inquisition at all.” Her fingers twitched. “And I… I am blessed with the gift of magic, the Creator’s magic and the ancient secrets of our Clan.” With a sigh, she stretched her hands and arms above her head. “You see, when I was born a red star glowed in the heavens. Revaslin da’elgara el’somniar thenerdin, freedom’s blood at dawn. The same star our legends say shone on the morning of Shartan’s birth. The others, they see me as marked by the gods for greatness. So, for Ellana, there is no choice to be made. She doesn’t know why I haven’t gone home.”

Solas paused, his hands flat on the table. This had been about him, he realized, though not in the way he imagined. “The Inquisitor believes I will…” he searched for the right word, “ _tempt_ you from your purpose.”

Eirwen laughed. “You’re hardly a demon, Solas. I’d say she considers you more a contributing factor. She worries about my work with refugees and soldiers. Each day I stay, I only confirm her fears.”

He looked away, disgruntled. He did not know whether he was bothered by the fact he ranked so low, considering Dalish superstitions or that the Inquisitor clung to these silly superstitions at all. The Anchor had been passed by an act of chance, and she had survived it despite her lack of magical talent. That should be enough. Eirwen, at least, seemed to take it in stride though he supposed she’d come with a far better frame of mind for it. In the end, regardless of whatever trappings worn, the answer was simple. _Ellana does not wish for her friend to leave her family._ He thought on Ellana’s hostility, which must have begun from the moment Eirwen decided to remain with the Inquisition. A choice made long before their first face to face interaction. Indeed, he could not remember her in Haven. “Yet, you have stayed regardless of the Inquisitor’s wishes.”

“If I allowed Ellana to bully me into returning home then the choice would be made for the wrong reasons,” Eirwen said. “I need to know I’m the right person, in the right place, at the right time. She can’t answer that, only I can.”

“Perhaps,” he began slowly, “there is some merit to Dalish wisdom after all.”

She arched a brow. “I’ll take the compliment as it was meant, rather than how it sounded.”

“I apologize,” Solas said. “You are wiser than most. I consistently find myself surprised by our conversations.”

Eirwen snorted. “Your bar is set incredibly low, Solas. Or, maybe,” her head tilted and she smiled, “you just have a low opinion of me.”

He sighed heavily. There was no way to escape it, he always seemed to offend one way or another. “That was not my intention.”

“Well, I’d say a gentle ribbing is in order,” Eirwen said. “I’m not the Inquisitor, so I don’t need to worry about bringing you down a peg or three.” She giggled. “I suppose I’m just lucky you haven’t gone off on silly Dalish superstitions.”

Solas studied her for a moment, incredulous. The knot in his stomach loosened and he smiled. There it was, he thought, that boundless, centered certainty. He knew he looked into the eyes of a woman who anchored the world. A leader, yes, and a spiritual guide. Yet, the more he looked the more he found he could not imagine her as a Keeper. She was something else. “What… do you think you might do if you were free?” He swallowed. “Should you choose not to return to your Clan.”

“There’s much of the world I haven’t seen,” Eirwen replied. “Perhaps, I’ll wander the wilds and find the secret places, or visit the Alienages to bring the city elves some comfort.” She rested her chin on her hand. “I doubt I’d ever stay in one place long.” Her lips twitched. “I can’t say the idea of being a witch ghosting through the woods doesn’t appeal, bound to nothing and no one.”

“What of relationships?” he asked, surprised by his boldness. “Walking the world by yourself would certainly be a lonely endeavor, though I am certainly not one to chastise such a choice.” His fingers drummed the table. “Have you not considered settling down, building a family?”

“Well, I do have an arranged marriage,” she said. “I suppose I could take it up again, but that would involve returning to the Clan.”

Solas choked.

Dabbing her mouth with a napkin, she smiled. “Honestly, Solas, I haven’t given it much thought.”

He considered that as they sat together in quiet contemplation. Eirwen sipped her drink, her eyes falling to the window and watching the soldiers practicing in the yard outside. He worked on the thoughts churning in his head, his silly choices, and the desires he’d yet to give voice to. Those desires might cause him more problems in the end. Ellana, certainly, wouldn’t be happy with either of them. He’d his mission to consider, and romance in such a state was cruelty. He could offer her nothing other than perhaps friendship and conversation. The thought of recruiting her was not even a consideration. Keeping her at arms length, proved the logical choice.  Yet, he could not shake the soothing comfort of her presence. The way she eased the ache of loneliness. When he ceased to be surprised by her wisdom and intelligence, they might begin philosophical debates in earnest. It was only then, after they stayed silently together for a little while, he realized she hadn’t rejected him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna just keep posting what I have. I hope you enjoy what exists so far. This fic is pure self-indulgence.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

_ The next morning. _

 

Eirwen’s breath caught in her throat as he pinned her against the cold stone. His rough hands on her shoulders, his thigh sliding between her legs, the warmth of his body shielding her from Skyhold’s cutting wind. He studied her with dark, somber blue-gray eyes. Irises filled with an unquenchable desire, his scorching gaze slipping past her surface clothes. His fingers catching her chin, his mouth descending. Her soft sigh as she lifted onto her tiptoes, letting him drag her forward. Her eyes fluttering closed. The first brush of contact, skin on skin and then…

A sharp shriek howled in her ear. 

She jerked. Body shooting up, her eyes wide open. One groggy palm slammed against her forehead. “I’m awake.”

“Good.”

Slowly, the gray walls of her small stone garret in the western watchtower sharpened into view. Eirwen frowned, palm flat on the hard pallet she slept on. Her head swung, and she saw Ellana perched on the small stool Blackwall fashioned when he heard her room lacked a chair. “Good morning, lethallan,” she murmured. Scooting so her back rested against the wall, she stifled a yawn with her hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Ellana was studying her, forehead screwed up into a frown. Her lower lip jutted out. Her expression half-angry and half-pouting. Long black lashes narrowed around brandy-brown eyes, flecked with honey and amber. She wore her raven black hair in a slinky braid, casually tossed over one shoulder. The hand with the Anchor rested on her bare knee, glittering with faint emerald green light. Her other hand tugged at the end of her braid.

Eirwen leaned her head on the cold stone, hands on her knees. Sometimes, Ellana needed a moment.

She sighed, heavily. “Dirthara’s going to kill me if I let anything happen to you, lethallan.”

Eirwen bit down on her lip, swallowed a laugh, and forcefully kept her snort inside her nose. “I’d worry more for yourself, Ellana. You’re the one with the glowing hand and the fate of the world resting on her shoulders.”

“You can call me, Ela,” Ellana said. “Everyone does, except you.” She paused. “And Solas, I guess.”

Eirwen smiled. “I wouldn’t take what Solas says personally. He likes comfortable distance.”

Ellana frowned. “He looks down on me.”

“He looks down on everyone,” Eirwen said gently.

“Maybe,” she sighed. “He’s an ass.”

Eirwen smiled. “A pole is certainly rammed up it.”

Ellana laughed. “You’re right.”

Eirwen closed her eyes. Ellana was a few years older than her, and sometimes seemed so much younger. She was a hothead, who often acted before she thought. A reliable hunter, but not the best and her organizational management left a great deal to be desired. Like most of the other children, she’d never had even a little interest in her studies. Eirwen often envied the easy way Ellana connected with the other members of their Clan. She’d never wanted for partners, or friends. She preferred to be in the thick of it, leading with her heart rather than her head. The worst crime came when anyone she wanted to like her, didn’t.

Ellana looked away, her eyes going to the ceiling and then the floor. Lips puttering as she considered what she wanted to say. “Sera said you and Solas were in the tavern yesterday.”

Eirwen frowned and hid a smile, leave it to Sera to try and stir up a little mischief. That one liked poking holes in the closest ego, Ellana’s included. It never hurt to follow up with the stab. She tilted her head. “You’re not jealous?”

“No!” Ellana exclaimed. “No, I... well, maybe.”

Eirwen sighed.

“I just…” her foot tapped the floor, “I get along with everyone else.”

“Except Vivienne,” Eirwen interjected.

“Right, except that bitch Vivienne,” Ellana agreed.

“And Iron Bull,” Eirwen added.

“Well, okay,” Ellana sighed. “I don’t like Iron Bull, except when we go drinking.”

“And Sera.”

Ellana rolled her eyes, fists balling. “I don’t like Sera, Eirwen. I don’t want to like Sera! I don’t want Sera to like me!”

Eirwen’s lips compressed to hide her smile.

“Why is it so easy for you to talk to him?” Ellana asked. “We’re both elves, we should be able to get along. You’ve obviously figured him out. He’s always going on about how I’m too important for him to spend time with me.”

Eirwen arched a brow. “You woke me up to ask about the mysterious mind of our local hermit?”

Ellana drummed her knuckles on her knee. “If I asked him to go to the tavern, do you think he’d go with me?”

“Possibly,” Eirwen said. “I didn’t invite him though, Varric did.”

Ellana grumbled. “Why didn’t Varric invite me then? I thought we were pals.”

“You’d have to ask him, Ela,” Eirwen replied.

“I’m asking you.”

With a sigh, Eirwen stretched her legs out. “You’re the Inquisitor, it’s different.”

Frowning, Ellana leaned forward. “And?”

“It’s lonely at the top,” Eirwen said.

Ellana groaned. “You’re getting more cryptic and I don’t know if I like it. You’ve never been particularly sociable, Eirwen. Too interested in the shems by far, but I’ve always respected your moxie. Especially after you snuck off alone into all those towns.”

This was going to lead somewhere unpleasant, Eirwen decided. She wasn’t sure if she should stop it or should hear it. Ellana missed the Clan terribly, and she wanted company similar to what she was used to. Eirwen didn’t blame her for it, she just couldn’t give her what she wanted.

“Why can’t you be that girl?” the wheedling tone was back. “You’d be more fun to be around.”

“You might want to give Sera another chance,” Eirwen said, reaching for her clothes. “You two have more in common than you think.”

“Pbbtbt,” Ellana stuck out her tongue.

“I need to get dressed,” Eirwen said. “Was there anything else you needed, lethallan?”

“I need you to read over all that junky correspondence I got,” Ellana replied. “I trust Josephine, but you’re Eirwen. You know how these shems think. I want your opinion.”

Eirwen slid into her pants one leg at a time, grabbed her shirt and leather jerkin. “I’ll try, Ellana, but I’m leaving on a mission this afternoon. You should ask Josephine for reading lessons, I’m sure she’ll find you a discreet tutor.”

Ellana wrinkled her nose.

“Or,” Eirwen paused, “ask Solas. He might be willing to help.”

“I don’t want him to know I can’t read!” Ellana snapped. “Not when everyone else here can. Creators, it’s embarrassing.”

Eirwen sighed. Solas probably already did, but there was no point telling Ellana. For all he kept his nose in the air, he excelled at reading people and getting a rise. He often came to the wrong conclusions from his observations, but he did observe. She barely ever looked at a book. “Do you want me to teach you?”

“No!” Ellana crossed her arms. “And you still haven’t answered my question!”

Eirwen closed her eyes. “Which question?”

“How’d you get Solas to like you?”

“He doesn’t,” Eirwen said. “He tolerates me.”

“No, he  _ likes _ you,” Ellana snapped. “He goes out of his way to spend time with you. Creators, Eirwen, he lets you use his study. You could be in there all the time if you wanted. I’m the one he  _ tolerates _ .”

Straightening, Eirwen began buckling her jerkin. “I have a lot less riding on my shoulders, Ellana. Try to remember why he’s here.”

“Please,” Ellana rolled her eyes. “You’d win him over if you were Inquisitor. You’d wrap him around your middle finger, and he’d follow after you like a puppy. All wise, and brave, and perfect.”

Eirwen snorted. The idea of Solas chasing at anyone’s heel like a hound sounded ridiculous. “You’re overestimating my powers of persuasion.”

“Sorry,” Ellana rubbed her forehead. “I’m being a bitch, aren’t I?”

“A bit, but I’m used to it.”

Ellana winced. “Ouch.”

“If this bothers you, Ellana, you need to talk to him,” Eirwen said, grabbing her jacket. “You’ll never have any sort of relationship unless you work up the nerve to try.”

“I don’t want to talk about work,” Ellana said. “The Fade is nice when he talks about it, but the rest of the time it gives me the heebie jeebies. I don’t know how you deal with it.”

“I’m a mage,” she replied. “I don’t have a choice.” She slid her arms through the sleeves, and gave a little hop. There was barely room enough for both of them up here, but somehow it felt more like home. “You do, Ellana. Let him teach you about the Beyond, he’ll respect you for it.”

Ellana’s nose wrinkled. “That’s the province of Keepers and mystics, not for the likes of me.”

With a sigh, Eirwen clapped a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You are a Keeper now, lethallan. The whole Inquisition is your clan. The whole world in your care.”

“I hate you, sometimes,” Ellana groused. “I don’t want to be reminded. How about you go play with the demons for a few days and I’ll make toys for the refugees?”

Eirwen withheld a sigh, and headed from the room. “If that’s the case, you’re feeding me first.”

“Really? You’d do it?”

“I can’t close rifts, Ellana,” Eirwen said.

“No,” Ellana paused. “Still, you know how to deal with spirits. You’ve made so many excursions into the old ghost ridden graveyards and ruins.”

Eirwen rubbed her temples. She understood Ellana’s desire to stay in the castle, but every moment they wasted more spirits were pulled through the Veil. More demons roamed the countryside, and disrupted everything. If the farmers couldn’t work their fields, then there’d be no food to feed the troops and Corypheus would win.  _ There’s one way she’d never go for it, _ Eirwen thought. “Send Solas with me and you’ve got a deal.”

“Fine.”

“What?” Eirwen spun around, slipping on the stone, and regained her balance. Eyes on Ellana, she frowned. “Ellana, you just—”

She crossed her arms. “The only way he’ll like me is if you talk me up to him.”

“Travel with him, talk to him,” Eirwen said. “Take an interest in what he does, where he spends his time, and find some common ground.”

“I tried that!”

With another sigh, Eirwen headed down the stairs. If Ellana was going to chase after her for this conversation, she might as well use the Inquisitor to get a nice breakfast from the kitchen staff.  _ Not that I need to. _ The elven maids Lyla and Nerise were usually more than willing to help her out.

“Eirwen, I’ve been running all over the countryside. I need a rest.” 

“Fine,” she sighed. “Give me a team to scout for Templars around Haven, I’ll pick off the worst offenders before Cullen moves his troops in and head out… where are you planning to send me?”

“Leliana suggested I head out to the Storm Coast, but Orlais is the opposite direction. Some new Red Templar outposts. You go there, I’ll handle my business in Val Royeaux,” Ellana said, her nose wrinkling. “I wish you could handle that.”

“Uneasy is the head that wears the crown,” Eirwen called over her shoulder as she hurried down the stairs. “I’m afraid these stuffy nobles accept no substitutes.”

“I beg you!” Ellana groaned. “Cast your magic on me! Make me a body double, lethallan! An illusion!”

Eirwen laughed, landing lightly on the stone at the base of the stairs. She turned the corner, and walked right into a hard chest. “Oof.”

“And if you spent more time practicing than watching stuffy nobles, you might notice what waited round the corner,” Solas’ warm, amused voice echoed in her ears as his hands reached down to steady her. “Instead, you’ve run headlong into it.”

“Serannas,” she muttered.

His hands dropped away, and he stepped past her. “How are you this fine morning, Inquisitor?”

“Solas!” Ellana cried, hurrying down. “I was just dragging Eirwen out of bed.”

Eirwen watched a tiny smile twitch on Solas’ mouth.

“I see,” he said, his eyes fell on her. “I’d wondered where you got off to.” His smile widened just a fraction. “I suppose you intended to sleep the day away.”

Eirwen rolled her eyes. “When I nap ‘till noon like someone I know, he’ll be free to sass me. Until then, he might be cautious about teasing.” Tilting her head, she leaned just a little closer. “He leaves himself open to retaliation so frequently.”

“I will take the suggestion under advisement,” Solas replied with an easy smile. “I’d not thought you the kind to leave lizards in my bedroll. I may need to reassess.”

Eirwen glanced to Ellana. “I’m off to breakfast, you’ll find me down in the kitchens.”

Ellana grinned. “Gotta snatch up whatever’s left.”

Without a glance to Solas, she strode away. If Ellana was going to send her out to the Storm Coast, maybe she didn’t want him to go with her. Not if he was going to distract her or pretend she didn’t exist. She certainly had no interest in watching Ellana flirt. Disappearing round the corner, she walked until she smelled freshly baked bread.


	4. Chapter 4

Solas did not watch Eirwen go, except from the corner of his eye. After his dream, a dream so rudely interrupted, he found the sight of her disconcerting. Perhaps, he thought, disconcerting was the wrong word. Arousing might be preferable. He’d taken to the morning air in order to clear it, only for the genuine article to stumble directly into his arms. Their almost kiss, rudely interrupted.  _ As it should be, I’ve no time to contemplate… such feelings. _ His eyes rose to where the Inquisitor hurried to meet him, tucking his hands behind his back. He knew now who had interrupted. “Are you well this morning, Inquisitor?”

“Ela,” Ellana said as she hopped down off the last step. “I’ve told you to call me Ela, Solas.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, careful to ensure his voice remained neutral.

She hurried toward him, her hands tucking behind her back as she mimicked his posture. “Or lethallan, like you did on our journey to Skyhold.”

“Lethallan,” he tasted the word, remembering he’d called Eirwen that the day before. With the Anchor in her hand, the Inquisitor certainly came closer. He smiled, wondering if she’d heard. “Very well, lethallan it is.”

Ellana grinned, peering up at him. A faint flush colored her cheeks. “I am well this morning, lethallin.”

Solas nodded. “I am glad of it. We would be in a great deal of trouble should your health prove less than excellent.”

He watched Ellana’s eyes widen, her smiling lips tremble, and reminded himself to be cautious. His path required distance, and it was obvious the Inquisitor desired a more romantic connection. She was a remarkable woman, but he could not say if it was the piece of him lodged in her hand that drew him to her. It would be unwise to pursue a relationship when he was not certain. More, with Eirwen in his dreams, such a path would be dishonest. Ellana deserved far better than what little he could offer.

Playfully, Ellana tilted her head. “So, have you eaten yet?”

“I’d planned to take breakfast in the rotunda,” he said. “There is a servant who brings me food from the kitchens.”

“I know, I assigned them,” Ellana replied.

He felt a quiet spark of gratitude. “Serannas, lethallan. Your gesture has helped a great deal.”

She waved a hand. “Eirwen suggested it last time I had her looking over my stupid correspondences. Said it’d be more efficient if all the mages ate where they worked or close to it. Otherwise, they’d start bringing their notes into the mess.” Her nose wrinkled. “I thought maybe just you and Dorian, you know, but she said a leader can’t show favoritism.”

“She is correct,” Solas said. “Favoritism fractures the troops rather than uniting them. It creates discord where none need exist. Grudges destroy teamwork on the battlefield, and thus all chance of victory.”

“Yeah…” Ellana nodded. “That.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Not calm and comforting, but uncomfortably tense silence. “You seem to respect her opinion a great deal,” he said at last. “More than anyone else.”

Ellana shrugged. “She’s Eirwen.”

“I see,” Solas said.

“I mean, I can fight Solas but I was a hunter. I never had much interest in the shems, or the seth’lin, or trading in the towns. When we needed to stock up the Clan, we hunted but the Inquisition can’t hunt enough to feed all the bellies here. I don’t decision make, that was sa’assan or tanassan’s job.” She sighed. “I can peg a field mouse at over a hundred paces, but she knows how to handle humans.”

“You could try thinking for yourself,” he said. “You might learn your own way of leading.”

“Yeah?” Ellana snorted. “Am I supposed to make up for Eirwen’s lifetime spent studying human cultures in a week? Or learning all about magic? Or the fact Keeper assigned her every kind of work imaginable so she knew the Clan inside and out? I can’t even…” she swallowed. “She likes the humans so much, and I want to be done with spirits.” Her mouth pulled sideways sourly. “Demons, the Blight, I run from darkspawn not at them. I hate spiders. I just want to go home.”

Solas sighed, his eyes rising to the ridiculous blue sky overhead. “Everyone follows a path to wisdom, lethallan. One is not necessarily less than another. You are in a difficult position, but you are doing well.”

“I didn’t mean to dump on you, Solas.”

“We all need someone to talk to,” he said. “There is no shame in that.”

Ellana smiled, rubbing her forehead. “Serannas.”

He swallowed another sigh. The Inquisitor was fragile and easily overwhelmed. Few, he knew, could be dropped into such a situation and handle it well. What she knew how to do and needed to do were desperately at odds. He had a feeling she wanted a mentor more than a friend, but was too proud to ask. With Eirwen herself as both a source of comfort and cause of insecurity. “Have you eaten yet, lethallan?”

“Not yet,” she said, batting her lashes shyly. “We could eat together if you like. I’ve something else to discuss with you.”

He tensed.

“I’m sending you, Varric, and Iron Bull on a mission to the Storm Coast,” she continued. “Eirwen’s going with you. You’ll start by clearing the Red Templars from around Haven so Cullen can send in the troops to secure the passes, then deal with new outposts cropping up in the west.”

He decided to withhold his surprise. “I will not be going to Orlais with you?”

“I’m meeting up with Josephine and Vivienne for official meet and greets with the local nobles. You’d be bored stiff as I will be stuck at their stuffy parties and visiting their stupid manors. All while they talk crap about me in a language I don’t understand.” She sighed. “I’m bringing everyone who speaks their power language, Dorian, Vivienne, and Cassandra.”

Solas nodded, from her perspective a solitary apostate used to wandering the Fade could offer little when dealing with the powerful of this era. He knew the dance of power all too well, but had no reason to play his hand. Guidance on this subject would only be suspicious, especially if correct. Besides, he hoped to discover if this dream sharing with Eirwen happened only at Skyhold or if it followed him everywhere. This was as good a chance as any. 

He smiled. “If that is what you require, I will be happy to accept this mission.”

Ellana grinned. “I didn’t expect you to put up a fight about it, I think Iron Bull and Varric’ll be happy to get out of Skyhold.” She tugged at the end of her braid. “So, breakfast?”

“That would do well also,” he said.

 

On the first night outside of Skyhold, Solas discovered his suspicion correct. He did not dream of Eirwen. However, when he learned upon waking she had not slept a wink, he began to worry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those who are enjoying this story, I'm glad! Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_In the Dawnbreak Pass above Haven, Day 2._

Calmly, Eirwen drew the leather map from her pouch and unwrapped it. Human maps were a bit different from those drawn by elves, but she’d learned quickly when Scout Harding showed them to her. _I’m lucky Cullen saw fit to provide me with one of this area._ He was counting on her to fill in some intelligence gaps. She glanced over her shoulder at the motley collection behind her, wishing Ellana tasked her with less conspicuous teammates. A few Inquisition soldiers or scouts, not members of the Inner Circle.

_The Iron Bull, Varric, and Solas._

All assigned to help her clean out Haven, then they were to travel north to the Storm Coast. Bull had suggested she act the decoy, and spread rumors the Inquisitor headed northwest into Fereldan instead of to the East. Travel with a hood to cover her head until she might dye it black. She couldn’t fake the hand, but traveling in Dalish leathers with an unstrung bow wrapped in oiled leather on her back should cause some confusion.

Iron Bull settled his great axe across his shoulders. “You know which way to go, Pip?”

Pip, short for Pipsqueak, Bull’s new nickname for her. Despite that, Varric kept on with Bright Eyes. Solas stubbornly stuck with her name. “Yeah,” she replied, blowing on her fingers. Out in the mountain cold, her fingers and toes longed for the warmth of a decent fire. “Though I still don’t know why you call me that, Bull.”

“I’ve already got a Dalish in the Chargers.”

Her eyes moved to the trees. “Scout makes more sense.”

“A bit on the nose, though,” he said. “Besides, you happen to be the smallest elf I know. You’re practically child-sized. Could hold you in the palm of my hand.”

She cast a wry glance in his direction. “Not before I burned it off.”

He laughed. “You’ve got spunk, Pip. I’m starting to like you.”

“I still don’t know how I feel about that,” Eirwen replied, her eyes circled the hills. They were in a bad position if the remaining Templars still had archers. In the snow, it’d be easy to find tracks. Harder to hide them. Her eyes fell on the tree cluster on the edge of the ridge. _Good spot to set up camp, then we’ll see who’s up for scouting._ “Tell the others, we make for those trees.”

Bull studied her. “You going ahead on your own?”

“Unless you want to play decoy for the archers.” Leaning against the tree, she unwrapped some jerky and took a bite. “We attract more attention as a group, and Solas has the strongest barriers. If we come under fire, you’ll take the brunt of it. You should stick close to him.”

He nodded. “I’ll tell Varric to move up. Traveling in twos was a good idea, but you need someone to watch your back.”

Eyes flicking from tree to tree, Eirwen looked for red light against the snow and in the shadows. She exhaled a stream of steam. “They’re here. Dug in well, though.”

“Watching the roads,” Bull said. “Reports say they’ve been kidnapping travelers.”

“We can’t have that,” Eirwen replied. “One noble goes missing and it’ll be what Josephine calls an international incident.”

Bull’s large hand landed on her head, and he ruffled her hood. “We’ll smoke ‘em out, Pip.”

She paused, tucking her food back into her pouch. “Ask Solas if he can fake a rift, like the ones Ellana makes.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

She grinned. “They’ll either run screaming or come to bag their prey. Either way, they’ll be moving.”

“I’ll tell the elf. You wait for Varric. Once he arrives, do that ghosting thing you do.”

“Aye, aye,” Eirwen said.

“And, Pip?”

She glanced back at him. “Yeah?”

Iron Bull studied her contemplatively. “Stay safe.”

Eirwen lifted her chin. “You too.”

The snow crunched heavily beneath his massive feet as he turned, and headed back into the thicker trees. Bull had his ways of moving silently, but those skills were defeated out here by his mass and the snow.

 _Too bad Corypheus didn’t pull in the Tal Vashoth,_ she thought. _They’d be easy to find._ Quietly, she reopened her pouch and found the wax paper Cullen had written on. She’d asked him to outline Templar hunting tactics in the mountains, and patrol patterns. Her map marked with their last known locations from Leliana. However, they were sporadic. The scouts just didn’t have the manpower to deal with them. Weren’t enough elite squads to move quickly in chase, especially in terrain like this where it was easy to hide. _Should’ve requested Cassandra, but Ellana needs her._ She sighed, wiping her hands on her pants. _We work with what we have._

 

Solas watched Varric stomp off into the woods, displeased to be left alone with Bull. He knew his personal feelings should not matter, but he disliked the way they split up. He worried a little about Eirwen. She’d stayed ahead in the field, cutting trail. He knew she was the most experienced with manner of terrain. She’d proved a surprisingly skilled tracker, but he worried nonetheless. He often found his eyes wandering the woods for signs of her. _Perhaps I am simply unused to these tactics, or grown too comfortable with the Inquisitor’s._ When he traveled with Ellana, they moved as a group of four. She let others go ahead, and fell back to the rear. Ellana would walk with him and Dorian, leaving Blackwall or Cassandra at the head of the line.

Eirwen left no time for conversation, except for the occasional offhand banter. When conversation bounced between himself, Bull, and Varric, she remained conspicuously silent. Studying her maps, her eyes scanning the woods and the ridges alert for signs of danger. Her work never seemed done. He’d seen similar behavior from other commanders before the Fall. From what he’d seen of her at Skyhold, he’d not expected her to be one. Brainy did not preclude one from command, rather problem solving was a necessity in a good leader, but he’d expected Eirwen’s quiet kindness to follow her into battle. Instead, she fought with cold, ruthless efficiency. She acted without hesitation, signaling orders with hand signs. In the few skirmishes they’d met, she went in first and came out last.

“We’re headed to the ridge,” Bull said. “Pip’s upfront, still scouting. She wants you to make sure I don’t end up full of arrows.”

“Have you seen any sign of the Templars?” he asked.

“Not yet, but if I were them this’d be a poor spot to camp,” Iron Bull said. “Too far from the main roads and no proper shelter. They'd wind up exposed making trail across the ridge, just like we will. Though, this way we’ll get the opportunity to drop in on top of their outposts.”

Solas frowned. “One might wonder if they need proper shelter, the way they are now.”

Bull shrugged his massive shoulders. “If they don’t, there’s not much sign of them.”

Solas glanced at the path Varric had taken, he wondered if they did. Given how cautious Eirwen was, there’d be little chance of them taken by surprise. _Ellana would cut through the valley in the open, but we’d suffer injuries._ Eirwen had given him her plan before they left Skyhold, to use himself and Varric as artillery while she stayed with Bull to keep up his barriers. It was a good plan, though it left her in the thick of it.

“Pip wants to know if you can fake rifts, like the kind the Inquisitor makes.”

“It may be possible.” His brows rose. “Why?”

“She thinks a juicy target like the Inquisitor’ll bring these shitbags out of hiding,” Iron Bull replied.

Solas paused, wondering why he’d never thought of creating such an ambush or playing similar tricks. When travelling with Ellana, there’d been little point. They’d come across the enemy, ranging across the hills without a systematic plan. He swallowed his contributions. With the Iron Bull there were only so many excuses he might give in regards to the Fade before his  true experience grew obvious. “What do you think of this plan?” Solas asked. “You are our military expert.”

Iron Bull glanced down the hill, his eyes following the ridge and the path he cut. If he was surprised by the deference, he did not show it. “It’s not a bad one. We’ve got an female elf to play Inquisitor, just need a few convincing fireworks.” He chuckled. “These chuckleheads never can tell one elf from another.”

“That is true,” he allowed.

“I’m more surprised by our little Pip. Got such a sweet face and steady temperament, though,” he paused, “it’s best to watch the quiet ones. They always get a little freaky.”

 _Our little Pip,_ Solas thought. First Varric and now The Iron Bull, they all developed nicknames for her. “I am surprised you follow her lead. She is after all female and a mage.”

“Reminds me of a few commanders I’ve had,” Iron Bull said. “Not much older than Krem, though. Good reminder of how the Dalish live.” He sighed. “Strange, considering.”

“Considering?” Solas asked.

Iron Bull hefted his axe as they made their way down the hill, following Varric’s trail. “Inquisitor was wetter behind the ears when we met.” He chuckled. “Maybe she still is.”

Solas nodded, absently. They walked silently through the forest, sliding lower toward the ridge. Were the situation different, he might’ve spoken more. There were quite a few conversation topics he might pick, especially regarding the qunari. His eyes searched among the trees for Varric, a dwarf far easier to locate than the young Dalish First. Varric’s position might point him to where Eirwen crossed the ridge.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Pip, Solas,” Iron Bull said. “That kid’s seen some crazy shit.”

“Why does everyone insist I not worry?” Solas asked. “Worry about what? I worry more for Orlais and what will happen to the Inquisitor without us.”

“I wouldn’t about that,” Iron Bull said. “You, at least, will be back on the team shortly.”

Solas sighed. “You’ve more faith than I.”

He laughed. “What are you talking about, Solas? The boss loves you. Me? I’d prefer to be on the front lines, but if I end up roaming about with Pip, Varric, and Vivienne killing bandits and Vints that’ll work out fine.”

“Leaving Sera, Cole, and Blackwall at Skyhold,” Solas said.

Iron Bull grunted. “I’m sure Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine will find some business for them too.”

They walked a bit longer together, and then he asked, “why does everyone think I worry?”

“Because you do,” Iron Bull replied. “And it’s damn weird, you know that? You act like she’s about to just fall off a mountain whenever she gets a little out of sight and then pretend you don’t care. We’re in the woods. She’s _Dalish_ , Solas. She grew up in woods. She’s the least likely to get noticed by archers. Hell, I lose track of her half the time. She’s fine.”

He frowned.

“I’d rather be fighting over how much you hate qunari, anyway.”

“I do not hate the qunari,” Solas snapped. “I dislike your system, which discourages free will and self-expression.”

“Yeah,” Bull said. “Let’s argue about that.”

Solas sighed. “Perhaps you have a point. Not a good one, but a point.”

“Good,” Bull replied. “I don’t like babying you along, it makes me feel… funny inside.”

Solas shook his head, and followed The Iron Bull down the trail. Logically, he knew the Bull was right. Yet, emotions were illogical. He’d few friends, he reminded himself. There was a reason why he cared beyond his dreams or Eirwen’s pleasant company. Before everything else, she was his friend first. Still, he did not enjoy feeling out of sorts and knew he knew better than to worry over an experienced combatant. She would not fail to care for herself, and come through battle alive. Partnership in combat required trust. Survival required everyone in their proper roles, that they could and would fulfill their duty. He could not afford to watch Eirwen more closely than the others. Bull and Varric were just as capable and just as important.

 _It is not her, you fail to trust,_ a treacherous thought snaked through his mind, _but rather this shadow world that has already taken so much._

And such a thought created more troubling ones. Why would he care if Eirwen were to die? She was only a shadow. A mage, closer than so many others to what she should be, yet still separate from herself. He should not, he knew. The elven woman he saw in this world proved less real than the one met in dreams. They were not reassuring thoughts, not in the way they’d once been. They left him uncomfortable, and more than a little sad.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! I enjoy reading them!


	6. Chapter 6

Eirwen made it to the small collection of trees on the ridge’s furthest edge without much trouble, and Varric caught up with her not long after. Time enough to pull Dagna’s spyglass from her pack, and take up position studying the terrain and the road leading down to Haven in the valley below. She double checked their position with the sun, before turning the telescopic lens on Haven's still smoking ruins. It was still empty. There’d been a few expeditions here since Corypheus led his attack from the mountains. A sweep or two, but besides the Chargers the wounds were too fresh for the Inquisition regulars. New problems were popping up across both the east and the west, from Fereldan to Nevarra. Cullen’s plate was full, sending out expeditions and overseeing the training of new troops. Josephine had mentioned in passing that they were recruiting from among the refugees but convincing the nobles holed up in their estates to commit troops proved a challenge. _Especially with Orlais in civil war,_ she thought, chewing her lower lip. She worried for the Dalish clans across the world, but at least Ellana made safeguarding their people a priority. She swept the glass across the furs and the pines, out to where the pilgrimage path led to Skyhold. The path they’d been widening, so the mountainous trek grew easier. Safer for wagons and supplies. Her eye caught on a bit of red in the woods below. _There you are._

“Whenever I look at you, Bright Eyes, I feel like I joined the army,” Varric said from behind her. “You’re not gonna pull a Curly and start demanding we march double time, are you?”

Lowering her glass, she glanced over her shoulder with a smile. “If I do, I promise you’ll be first to know.”

Varric chuckled. “Seen any sign of the Reds yet?”

“They’re camping the main road, like Bull thought,” she said. “Poaching work crews and travelers by the look of things.”

“Shit,” Varric sighed. “With all the red lyrium up at the Temple, they’ll be building an army under our nose.”

She knelt and leaned over the edge. The drop below looked to be between twenty to thirty feet. A narrow path wound down the cliff, little more than halla and deer tracks. “That’s why we’re going to stop them here.”

“Gotta admire that confidence,” Varric said. “Might I suggest eating before we raid? Can’t take on the world with an empty stomach.”

Eirwen flicked her fingers. “We’ll put down here for the night. I want to see what they’re doing in the dark, and everyone needs a good night’s sleep after this climb. Our position should remain secure on the overlook.”

“Sounds good, Bright Eyes.”

“No fires though,” she added. “No reason to let them know we’re here.”

“Got it,” Varric sighed. “Cold rations it is.”

He looked relieved, she thought. As dwarves went, Varric was a city creature. He belonged somewhere like Kirkwall, Denerim, or Val Royeaux; working the streets, docks, and markets for information. In back alley business meetings with the Carta and putting his merchant credentials to use, not out here running scut work. Too valuable to be in the field. All members of the Inner Circle were too valuable. Eirwen sighed, flicking a bit of sweat off her brow. This wasn’t the first time she’d considered sending them back to Skyhold. She might’ve, if she thought they'd go. _Maybe Solas and I can warm up some rocks or something, stick them in a bedroll. Iron Bull’s enough to warm us all up._ Ensure no one froze to death in the night, picked up frostbite, or came down with hypothermia.

Walking back off the ledge, she motioned for the trees. “We’ll set up in there. Shadows should hide Bull’s mass.”

“Best as anything will,” Varric grinned.

When they made it into the small clearing, she shucked her pack and the bow with it. Unhooking the button, she flipped open the flap. Her fingers slid inside, drew out a small clay jar.

Varric settled on the far side, kicking over a log for a seat. He collapsed onto the cold wood with a heavy thump.

Eirwen’s lips compressed. This would be a far cry from the cots, fires, warm meals, and other creature comforts the Inquisition set up for the Inquisitor. Both Varric and Bull were from warmer climates, their experience with snow limited. Bull, especially, as he loved to roam shirtless. _I’ll need to make sure they stay dry._ Quietly, she opened her jar and swept out a finger full of balm. Dabbing it on her lips, she checked over her hands and feet. Her soles were tough as leather, but a single cut, blister, or burn could turn deadly in cold climes. Cautiously, she wiggled her toes. No sign of stiffness, that was good. _Keep them moving regularly, make sure their feet, hands, and clothes stay dry as possible._ Her eyes returned to Varric, she did see a few ruddy cracks there. Especially around his mouth.

Swiping more balm from her jar, she crossed the snow and knelt in front of him.

“Something you need, Bright Eyes?”

“More like what you do, Varric,” she replied. “Hold still.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She lay a finger on her lips, then stretched out her hand. She dabbed the balm carefully around the corners of his mouth, then where the cracks were showing on his cheeks. “Not sure if you’re lucky the beard’s on your chest,” she said. “That’ll stay warm, at least.”

“Heh,” Varric chuckled. “And here I was thinking there’s not much to do about my face falling off.”

She grinned, clapping him on the arm. “Make sure to dry your socks tonight. Sweat’ll freeze your toes.”

“Thanks.” His nose wrinkled. “Have I mentioned I hate camping?”

Eirwen snorted.

“Wow,” Iron Bull’s voice bellowed across the clearing. “What tender moment did we walk in on? We can come back if you two want privacy.”

Eirwen jumped to her feet. “It’s good you’re here, actually,” she said, brushing the snow from her knees. “I’m going to give you a quick once over.”

His mouth compressed into a thin line. “That the good kind of look see, or the bad?”

“We’re in freezing temperatures, all this lovely warmth will disappear once the sun goes down,” she said. “Unlike our half-dead friends below, we’ve still got to worry about the cold and no luxury for a fire.”

“Yeah, so?”

She smiled. “If your fingers freeze, Solas gets to break them off.”

Iron Bull winced. “Understood.”

Behind him, Solas chuckled. “I cannot say I enjoy the prospect any more than you, Iron Bull.”

“Yeah? Yours freeze and I’m first in line,” Iron Bull replied. “That a promise, Pip?”

Capping her jar, Eirwen trotted across the clearing. She didn’t bother glancing at Solas. No good came of showing favoritism in the field. She felt his eyes on her, though. His shared antagonism with Bull and the prospect of humiliation might be good motivation for keeping them safe. “Absolutely.”

“See, Solas,” Bull laughed. “Here’s our regiment’s sergeant.”

Eirwen ignored him, her eyes roving his massive body with a practiced eye. It was harder to tell Bull’s condition than Varric’s but she was also unfamiliar with qunari bodies. Still, he lacked any obvious, early signs. She bit her lip. She should’ve remembered to keep enough for the team. “Keep yourself moisturized and remember to stay hydrated.”

“No worries there,” Bull laughed. “I can drink!”

“Tell me if anything starts feeling stiff. I don’t want heroes, I want your body working tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, Pip,” Bull said.

She waved him away.

Bull slipped past her, and a waxy canvas to lay down beside a tree before he pulled his bedroll. He, at least, understood the virtue of staying dry.

Eirwen caught Solas by the arm. “Hands.”

He glanced at her. “Should I not be the one asking you this question?”

“Hands,” she repeated. “You’ve been without gloves all day.”

With a sigh, he set his staff aside and held them out.

She took hold of his left, running her index finger over his calluses. His skin electric to the touch. Ignoring a sudden flush, she prodded a few reddened spots for stiffness.

“This is unnecessary,” he said gently. “Were I in danger of frostbite, I would handle it.”

“I know exactly how stubborn and intractable elves like you can be,” she replied evenly, moving to his right hand. Aware now he’d moved in closer. “You’re my responsibility, Solas.”

He made a soft noise in his throat.

Then, she felt callused fingertips on her left ear.

"As you are mine," he murmured.

Her breath stuck awkwardly in her throat. Nothing sensual like in her dreams, simply methodical. Checking her as she checked him. Still, he was elven. He knew their people’s erogenous zones. _A warning might’ve been nice,_ she thought. “Your fingers are chapped.”

“Your ears also seem half-frozen,” he said, his voice light and indifferent. “I thought you’d chosen to wear a hood.”

She let his fingers go, eyes rising to study his face. Her gaze wandered his dry lips to cheeks slightly reddened by the cold, and the small scar cut between his brows. “Your nose is freckled.”

“Ah,” he stepped away, “yes, it has been for some time.”  

Her eyes dropped, fingers clenched around the clay pot. _Why did I say that?_ “Well, if you need anything or start feeling stiff, come see me. There’s only four of us, so everyone needs to watch each other.”

“As you wish,” Solas said.

“Serannas.” Eirwen spun about quickly, tucking her hood over her ears. Her left still tingled, the hot flush heating her cheeks and throat. Her eyes on her pack, her blanket, and her bedroll. _Sort out a rotation for who keeps watch when. The Reds will need to go around the gorge for a surprise assault._ Her thoughts ran together. _Talk up Ellana._ She and Solas would travel together a few weeks at most. From here it was a fortnight on hallaback to the Storm Coast, and a fortnight back. So, somewhere around a month and a half. _Ellana will catch up, no doubt._ It was a week and back to Val Royeaux, and she’d be there for less.

She seized hold of her pack, pulling out her blanket and uncinched her bedroll. With no fire, they’d all need to sleep fairly close together. After spreading her canvas blanket across the snow, she filched a ration pack from her pack. Settling down, she unwrapped bread, dried meat, and fruit. Her eyes returning to the sky. _Nightfall is a few hours away._ “Any volunteers for first watch?”

“I will,” Solas said. He’d settled in beside Varric, and they both shared his blanket.

Eirwen ripped off a piece of bread, and took a bite. “Serannas, Solas.”

“And I’ll go after him,” Bull said. “Then Varric. You take last shift.”

She frowned when Varric nodded.

“No point in disagreeing, Bright Eyes,” he said. “You did the most work out of us all today, and we know you’ll be in bed last.”

Eirwen sighed, plucking a bit of dried meat from her ration. She ate slowly, pretending to give it some thought. Then, rewrapping her meal, she put it back in her pack. “If you’re all agreed, there’s nothing to be said.” She smiled. “I’ll take last shift, see if I can find us a route off the ridge come morning.”

“I’d prefer if it wasn’t a deer trail this time,” Bull grumbled. “I don’t want to fall down the mountain.”

Eirwen laughed. “Noted.”

They fell into silence together as Varric reached into his pack to withdraw a set of hand painted cards. He flipped his own blanket so it lay full on the ground the settled in. “What do you say, Bull?” he asked after shuffling. “Care for a game of Wicked Grace?”

Iron Bull shrugged. “Doesn’t look like it’ll rain or snow, so why not?” He glanced at her. “You in?”

Eirwen opened her mouth, she planned to say she might but then...

“You wished to know if I could mimic the Inquisitor’s ability to make rifts,” Solas said suddenly. “We should discuss it, should you wish to factor my knowledge into your plans.”

 _And… business takes over._ She smiled, and jumped to her feet. “Let’s walk the ridge's edge, above the pass. I want a lay of it before the sun goes down.” Her eyes swept to where Varric handled the cards. “If there’s still light, deal me in when I get back.”

“Or when we hit a tavern on the way to the Storm Coast,” Varric said. “I’ll teach you how to fleece the drunkards, Bright Eyes.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She gestured for Solas to follow her, and they headed into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a bunch of these together, but they'd be really long as a single chapter. So, I broke them up and anyone subscribed gets ALL the updates. 
> 
> These sections were sort of my look at Eirwen, the Commander. The fun part of her is she doesn't need to be Herald of Andraste to get people to listen.
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and the kudos! They mean a lot to me.


	7. Chapter 7

Solas followed Eirwen as they walked through the forest, the snow cold under his feet. She moved slightly ahead, her eyes on the cliff’s edge and the path below. Every so often, she lay a hand on a tree. Palm flat against thin trunks, her hand caressing the bark. Her light steps silent on the snow. All lingering sounds of their passage came from him, Solas knew. He was not so loud as the Iron Bull or Varric, yet his whispers could not challenge total silence.

Ellana walked much the same way, though he had not noticed. Ellana did not enjoy silence, and disliked quiet contemplation. She chattered when it was unnecessary, filled the air with joyous laughter. Always teasing her companions, joking, linking arms with Dorian, or telling foul jokes. She disliked being alone, especially with herself. It was a quality he related to. _It is no wonder Ellana dislikes her,_ he thought. _With no outward emotion, such silence would only grow oppressive._ Yet, the question of insecurity remained.

“Is this how the Dalish travel?” he asked, after a moment.

Eirwen paused, her hand resting on the tree. Her head turned, but her eyes dropped. As if she contemplated the question. “It is how I do.” Then they rose, fiercely blue in the fading light. “Why?”

“I simply wondered if all of Clan Lavellan were no more than shadows in the woods. Your silence is... commendable,” he finished lamely, unsure of how to continue or why he’d begun this line of questioning. To discover if she was unique, perhaps, or if Ellana was. “The Dalish I met before were far easier to locate.”

Eirwen shrugged. “When we search, we often find what we were looking for.”

Solas paused. The Clan he had met on the edge of the Brecilian forest had certainly not been what he’d hoped to find. After what Felassan said and the stories of how the Dalish alone held to the old ways, he expected more. The disappointment in what he found there still stubbornly clung to his spirit, the last of his hopes for elvenkind burned to cinders and crumbled into ash. Slipping through his fingers into the soil of this bleak banal’rasan, his heart fractured with it. All fell to the shadows. There was time left to save the People, but those who lived now were beyond aid.

“Our people have lost much,” Eirwen continued. “Many see us as they wish, just as my people often see what they desire to. We are ghosts in this world, Solas. We stay in our forests, separate from men. There is no place for us with them, nor them with us.”

Solas drew next to her. “Yet you create such camaraderie with the others so quickly.”

Eirwen glanced at him, a tiny smile curved her mouth. She reached out and gently took hold of his hand. They were cold to the touch. “I think it’s better to know those who are different.”

Laying his other hand atop hers, he drew a thin bit of fire from his core and wrapped them about his fingers. Steam rose into the chill air. “Are you never lonely for your people? Do you not desire to return to the Dalish as the Inquisitor does?”

“I carry them in my heart, Solas,” she said. “Atish’an shiral u vhenan ma vhenas.”

 _The journey is peaceful when your heart is your home,_ Solas translated. The phrase stuck like a foul taste in his mouth, bitter in his own heart.

Eirwen sighed, and her fingers slipped from his grip. “I’m lonely sometimes, but if we don’t stop Corypheus there’ll be nowhere to go. No home for Ellana to return to. The forests of Wycome will burn and the dead overrun us. Both sides of the Veil will be destroyed, in that future both your friends and mine lie dead.”

“That is true,” Solas said, and they lapsed back into silence.

He watched Eirwen rub her hands together, though she might have used magic as he did to warm them. She walked ahead again. Her steps just a little faster, her stride a little longer, carrying her away. He was reminded again how she troubled him. He often forgot Corypheus and the tear in the Veil overhead when he was with her. Easing his worries so he forgot the troubles of the elvhen. The world brightened, and the shadows retreated. There was solace to be found in her company, in quiet walks shared beneath the trees. With her, he discovered a comfort he neither wanted nor deserved. He could not trouble her with the thought of futures when there would be none, even if the Inquisition succeeded.

“Do you…” Eirwen paused as they approached the cliff. “Nae,” her soft, breathy laugh filled the air, “na sahalan lathleen.”

“You will not ask?” he asked. “What is there to fear in a question, lethallan?”

She smiled, yet another secretive smile. “It depends on the question.”

Solas grimaced, that was an answer he might have given should the question be one he did not want to answer. In a swift blow, the closeness he’d felt a moment before severed. The distance again vast. It irritated, more so because he’d decided against closeness. He should be grateful for the garrison carefully erected around her heart, not left frustrated by it.

Her breathy voice lingered in his ear. “Garas ma tel’sulevin, lethallin?”

 _Why am I uncertain?_ He chuckled. “Perhaps, I’ve yet to find certainty.”

“I thought you nothing but,” she replied playfully. “You always seem so sure, Solas.” Her bright blue eyes swung, and she glanced over her shoulder with a cheerful grin. “An impressive feat given how often you’re wrong.”

A spark of indignation shot through him, then his irritation faded and he laughed. “There is much I do not know of in this world, and much I do. You would do well to listen to the voices of your elders.”

“The eyes are often clouded by age,” Eirwen said. “Their sight dims, the ears deafened, but the voice…” she giggled, “the voice shouts so loudly!”

He smiled wryly. “I am sorry to disappoint, lethallan. I fear age has yet to take leave of my senses.”

She whipped around, dancing back a few paces. Tantalizingly close, just outside of reach. “I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear.”

Pushing back his hood, he laughed. “Ma lasa vhenan samahl.”

She smiled, leaning against a tree. “I’m glad, Solas. Your heart could use more laughter.”

His eyes fell on the reddened tips of her ears, her ruddy cheeks and nose. Skin a mix of pale and red blotches from the cold. Oddly in contrast with the orange bangs flopping on her brow. Her warmth echoed in his empty center. He remembered her kneeling before Varric, fingers running over his lips. The sudden, unexpected stab of jealousy. Followed by shame for his foolishness over misinterpreting care for a teammate, and finally confusion. _I’ve not yet found certainty._ Struck by another impulse, he stepped forward so they were less than a breath apart and lay his hands on her ears.

Her cheeks went red, exactly as he hoped. Breath catching in her throat, teeth running over her lower lip after her tongue snuck out into the cold. “Solas?”

“Your ears are frozen, lethallan, nearly frostburned,” he replied. “How will you think if you cannot keep them warm?”

Her eyes widened, face growing redder. Lashes batted, flustered. Lips trembled, her tongue plastered to the roof of her mouth. The deep breath she inhaled.

As he thought, she’d never been properly pursued. Ellana understood the game, Ellana flirted with everyone. Ellana… his eyes fell to Eirwen. _Do not tell me you are reserved and chaste as a Chantry sister?_ His mind returned to Bull’s earlier comment. _The repressed ones, the quiet ones, they’re always freaky._ And so they were. The old Fen’Harel, the Pride he’d thought buried, would like nothing more than to see what fires lay beneath that flushed and innocent mask. Behind the gates erected to keep the likes of him out. “Eirwen,” his low voice caught on her name, “this may seem an odd question.”

Her brows rose, pressed as she was against the tree trunk. “Question?” she echoed.

He smiled. “You spoke before of an arranged marriage.”

“I did,” she said, her voice hesitant.

No, he decided, he would not tease her. “Did you never consider… someone else? Another member of your Clan, perhaps?”

“There wasn’t time,” she murmured. “I needed focus to be what was required, and that didn’t leave much left for other pursuits. I had my studies, and my dreams.”

 _You are unfair,_ Solas thought.

“Maybe that’s why I like you, Solas,” she added. “You are unavailable, untouchable, and uninterested. You would never…” her voice caught, “it’d be impossible.”

 _Incredibly unfair,_ for what might he say to that? He leaned closer with a smile. “Be careful reaching for the stars, lethallan.” His voice lowered, the sage, wise elder offering advice. “One never knows when they might decide to take what is offered.”

She swallowed, visibly.

Solas lowered his hands from her ears to her cheeks. Gently, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a swift, chaste kiss; all he allowed himself. He stepped away, though the last sight of her flustered expression before he turned to face the cliff left him oddly pleased.

It took a moment, but her voice strengthened. “You were going to tell me of your talents in manipulating the Veil.”

“Ah,” he paused, “yes.”

So, it was back to business. A small smile tweaked his lips, he’d begun to take her measure. She fled to work when she grew uncomfortable, hid her emotions well behind disinterest. Always something to someone, molding herself into what they needed. Afraid of what might occur should she stretch beyond her walls. Unknowingly shackled by duty, desperate to be free. He desired to see what she might be like without hesitance or guilt, the fires lit when she chased her dreams.

Eirwen watched him expectantly.

He cleared his throat. “I will tell you, lethallan. My studies of the Fade have been extensive, perhaps enough to fool those who do not know what they expect to see beyond a tear in the Veil.”

She walked to him, her eyes falling on the road below. “We don’t need to fool them long, just long enough.”

His smile grew a little wider, his heart a little lighter, and he realized his fondness. He did not share the same camaraderie with her as Varric and The Iron Bull, but their connection was real. Slower, perhaps, with more barriers to cross. Yet, as they grew closer, they attained understanding. He’d begun to admire her mind. The way it worked, the way she bore responsibility without complaint. For all her youthful ignorance in matters of romance, she was wise in others. Her heart sought wisdom, just as his did and he did not find her teasing lectures burdensome. He knew too he would not find her open to him unless he shared the emotional risk. Stranger still, he wanted to take up the gauntlet. Could not stop, even when he knew it was wrong.

As they stood together overlooking the Herald’s Path down to Haven, Solas began to tell Eirwen of his abilities. Watching carefully as she listened, answering her questions. Talked past the sun fading and setting on the Frostbacks, until the nightfall claimed the mountains. Then, in silence, they waited among the trees and watched ruby red glittering in the shadows. They were rewarded at last when the corrupted Templars glowed in the dark.

 

“How long do think they’ll be out there?” Iron Bull asked.

Casting a glance toward the woods, Varric discarded a card and collected another. They could barely see in them at all, except in shafts of moonlight. “Leave the kids be, they’ll return when they’re done.”

Bull laughed. “Much as I might like to think it, Solas is no child.”

“Bright Eyes has a good head on her shoulders and Solas… he’s restrained,” Varric said. “He won’t do anything.”

Bull discarded two cards, taking two more. “I wouldn’t be so sure, though our boss might be disappointed. She seems sweet on the elf. Do you plan on folding?”

“No,” Varric said. “Show your hand.”

“If I win, I collect a secret right?” Bull asked. “That’s how this game works.”

“Yeah, yeah, and if I win I get one too,” Varric chuckled. “More fun than playing for coin.”

“True,” Bull agreed. “Three Swords. Aces wild.”

Varric glanced at his collection with a sigh, lay down his hand. “I’ve got nothing good. A pair of Swords, pair of Cups, my King and Queen are wrong suit.”

“You bluff well for a dwarf, though,” Bull said. “If I didn’t have some juicy questions stored up, I might’ve folded.”

“For a spy, you’re a piss poor liar; not that I expect a qunari to be good at lying,” he said. “Ask your question.”

Bull grinned, leaning forward as his teeth flashed in the starlight. “If Pip were here, what would you ask her about Solas?”

Varric laughed. “That’s what you’d ask? Nothing else?”

“I’ve got a few more hands to win,” Bull said. “Consider me curious.”

“I don’t know,” Varric said. “Whatever might be starting between them’ll end if Ela catches wind of it. She may be playing the field for now but like you said, she’s sweet on him. I think she’s been hoping he’ll get jealous.”

“Of Cullen?” Bull asked. “Of Josephine?”

“Of you?” Varric asked, raising a brow.

“Fair enough,” Bull laughed. “I wouldn’t take it personally if she moved on to someone new, Varric. Not like I could stop her if she did.”

“I don’t get you at all,” Varric said. “She sends you on assignments like this, but won’t take you on her missions. Doesn’t that bother you?

“You want an answer to that question, you’ll need to win the next hand,” Iron Bull replied, cheerfully slapping a hand on his thigh. “First, answer mine.”

“What question would I ask, Bright Eyes?” Varric sighed. “I’d want to know how she feels about Solas. They spend a lot of time together, you know. No way to know for sure though. She spends time with lots of people, and she keeps a tight lid on her emotions. Besides, don’t even know if I’d ask. I’m not sure I want her feeling obligated to share.”

“You like her?”

“You kidding, Muscles? When I’ve got Bianca here?” Varric laughed, patting his crossbow. “Bright Eyes is a sweet kid, and far from home. Never had time to settle in. At Haven, I found her running all kinds of scut work for the apothecary. She ran all over the valley, looking for elfroot and the like. Never complained. In the evenings, she’d lean against the tavern and listen to the guys inside signing songs. When she carried her staff, nobody wanted to talk to her. After ditching it, they all thought she was a servant. Elves aren’t exactly popular, you know. I figured she could use a friend.”

“She survived the explosion at the Conclave?”

“Yeah,” Varric said.

“That was my next question, as there aren’t many Dalish…” Bull paused, “anywhere, really. None have joined the Inquisition so far. Well, except Dalish but she came with the Chargers. Pip’s different. The way she stands out, I’d think Leliana would send her into the field more.”

“I don’t think anyone wants to be the guy who got the Inquisitor’s kin killed,” Varric said. “She’s a bit touchy about Dalish lives.”

“That’s true,” Bull agreed, then he paused and heaved a heavy sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t be good for my health if she died on our watch either. That kills a few of the more dangerous plans.”

“Don’t tell me. You were gonna put her on your shoulders and make yourselves a mobile artillery unit.”

“No comment,” Bull said.

Varric chuckled. “You were!”

“Well, Solas is too big. The Inquisitor is… the Inquisitor, can’t exactly ask her. Even if she was willing to do it, I’d never hear the end of it from Cassandra. Sera is still mulling my proposition over, but I’m guessing she’ll say no. Pip though, she’s smaller than Sera! Just the right size, and she’s crazy. Plus, if she sat on my shoulders, I’d permanently have barriers. Think of the havoc, Varric! I could tackle a dragon horns to horns!”

“Solas isn’t gonna let her sit on your shoulders,” Varric said. “And he'd definitely get irritated you carrying her into a dragon’s mouth.”

“ _Solas_ is a spoilsport,” Iron Bull replied. “Pip’s a grown elf, and he knows it. He’s not her anything until he actually stops pussy footing around and makes a move. Besides, even if he finally made up his mind, he still doesn’t get to decide what she does. He can watch, all disapproving and broody.”

“Okay,” Varric sighed. “Ela might get jealous.”

Bull chuckled. “I can live with that, might even enjoy it.”

“Bright Eyes won’t say yes.”

“I’ll convince her of the plan’s tactical viability,” Bull said cheerfully. “Her type loves that talk. If Solas wanted to get into her pants, all he’d need to do is talk strategy all day. Get her off by giving her brain a noogie.”

“I will take that suggestion under advisement,” Solas’ stiff voice came from the other side of the clearing.

They both jerked their heads up, and exhaled a relieved sigh when they saw he was alone.

“How much of that did you hear?” Varric asked.

Solas sighed, stalking into the clearing and taking a seat on their blanket. “Enough to know I should avoid the rest.”

“Good,” Bull said. “Where’s Pip?”

“Gathering stones,” Solas replied, reaching into his pack. He drew a pair of smoothed rocks, tossing one to Iron Bull and one to Varric.

Dropping his cards, Varric caught it easily. Surprised by the sudden heat blooming in his hands, he almost dropped it. “It’s warm!”

“Eirwen…” Solas paused. “She worried about your health in the mountain cold and decided to enchant a few stones we might keep in our bedrolls. Apparently, this what the Dalish do when they’ve no luxury for fires. She’ll be here soon with the rest.”

“Bright Eyes is such a sweet kid,” Varric said, thoughtfully turning over the rock in his hands. “Definitely answers why Merril’s house never gets cold. I’m surprised at you though, Chuckles. I expected some snark.”

Bull pressed his stone to his cheek. “Admit it, Solas. You do get rather uptight about Dalish problem solving.”

“I’ve no issue with Dalish solutions,” he paused, “provided they work.”

“And there it is,” Bull said.

“Well, Varric,” Solas said, taking a seat in their circle. “Will you deal me in?”

“ _You_ want to play, Chuckles?” Varric laughed. “Now, I’ve seen everything.”

“You sure?” Bull asked with a grin. “We’re playing for secrets instead of coin. For guys like us, the stakes are high. For you,” he paused, “well, you’d be no fun. Probably give cryptic non-answers.”

“How will you know if you do not let me play?” Solas asked, his voice mild.

Deceptively mild, Varric thought. One thing he’d learned about Chuckles was that while the guy didn’t take offense often, he turned vengeance into art. He’d have to care about the slight, of course. He cared about Eirwen, he might be bothered by discussion of his more carnal interests in regards to her. _Also, if you believe Blackwall, Chuckles is stone cold when it comes to gambling._ “Okay, but only if you’ll agree to play with Bright Eyes when she gets here.” His eyes glinted. “I’ll bet she’s got some questions.”

“Now, there’s a game I’d like to see,” Bull laughed.

If Solas was bothered, he didn’t show it. “Very well,” he said. “Let us see if I remember the rules.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Honestly, I was expecting to jump around and time skip a lot more than we are. Still, stories go where they want to and do what they want to. I may have listened to "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" on repeat throughout this chapter. Somehow, it managed to sum up all the interactions that happened. I'm not really sure if Solas or Eirwen was Simba, but Iron Bull and Varric were definitely Timon and Pumba. It amuses me that they're focusing on the interpersonal relationships. I liked the idea of them playing Wicked Grace as a social thing.
> 
> Iron Bull and Ellana having a relationship surprised me, though not much. Ellana as an Inquisitor needs to feel needed, necessary, wanted, and loved. It lines up well with what Iron Bull offers.
> 
> I didn't expect Eirwen to admit that she liked Solas based on the assumption he doesn't, didn't, and would never want to become romantically entangled with her. Walling off emotional possibilities and exiting the situation before it becomes awkward is very Eirwen. When it comes to romance, she's a bit of a coward.
> 
> Solas got bolder than I expected him to. Though sometimes I just sigh and go, "Solas! Solas, no!" Then he straight up flirts.
> 
> I appreciate the comments I've received, you guys are wonderful. I'm glad you're enjoying this like I am.


	8. Chapter 8

Eirwen lay on her back in the snow. His hands captured hers, pressing her down as his head and torso blotted out the sun. Her heart hammered a maddening beat, one she was sure could be heard in the waking world.

“Eirwen,” Solas murmured.

She remembered the feel of dry lips on her forehead, the wild electric shiver tingling her spine. The way the warmth had not left her ears, not for hours afterward. Her body so hot, and the snow so cool. She was feverish. “Mmm,” she mumbled, squirming beneath him. “I’m so hot, it’s eating me up.”

“Eating you up,” he echoed, a strange smile curving his mouth. “There is a thought I’ve considered, several times over.”

“ _Solas_ ,” she groaned.

“What?” he chuckled. “Must I remain polite even in your dream, may your dream not taunt you?” His mouth hovered next to her ear. “Tempt you?” Lips whisked across the top of it. “Tease you?”

Creators, she loved his laugh. The slight nasal catch and then the rattle deep in his throat, like he planned to do inappropriate… things. She wriggled, her body aching. Her tongue tasting sweat on her lips. Throbbing in the heat, her cheeks flaming. Her dream drifting, remembering the card game. Remembering the strange questions Solas asked when he won a hand, or six, strangely simple questions. _Tell me, what are your favorite foods?_ _The first spell you learned?_ _Your favorite activity for relaxation?_ All light, impersonal questions, nothing like the interrogation she’d expected. Iron Bull’s, Varric’s, she could barely remember.

His lips pressed to the corner of her jaw, under her ear. “I see you are drifting.”

“Mhmm,” she moaned, her hips lifting. Her body twisted beneath him. “I… sometimes... feel we’re not close… enough for this.”

He paused, a rough hand pushing her bangs off her brow. “I might appear as another if you prefer.”

Her fingers slipped free from his grip. She sat up a little, catching his mouth in a warm, dry kiss. The snow left her feverish palms chill, the emotions intertwining together. The soft energies of the Beyond hummed on her skin, mind dancing between what was and what wasn’t. Her heart hammering her chest.

He returned her kiss eagerly, more eagerly than she expected. The Solas she imagined was reluctant, careful. There were brief moments like when he warmed her fingers and ears against the cold that she thought more might linger beneath the surface. A raging current beneath still waters. Eyes she could spend a lifetime searching and never come away with all the answers. Core filled with melancholy and loss, his arrogance half-born of a homesickness she knew all too well. The stiff backed pride he came by honestly. He meandered between close and far. One moment warm as the sun, another cold and uncaring as moonlight. A distant reflection of a man, a shadow cast by mirrored reflections, carefully erected barriers, and unscalable walls.

Here, he burned white hot under her hands. His raging current laid bare, ready to surround and drown. A hunter who stalked his prey. They were not the same.

“Impossible,” he murmured against her mouth. “Unavailable.” Lips reverberating as they kissed. “Untouchable.” His soft laugh. “Uninterested.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she answered. “I don’t have much to offer.”

Gently, his arms folded around her and they fell onto the snow with a soft crunch. His lips brushed her brow, chastely as they had in the woods. “Is this what you would insist were I to pursue you in the waking world?”

“The real you never would,” Eirwen said. “I can’t tell if you’re bad at connecting with others or just don’t want to, but you certainly avoid it.”

“I find it interesting you cannot simply relax and enjoy,” Solas said. “Even in your dreams, you are anxious when it comes to romance. It is not just me, I expect. You would be certain you’ve nothing to offer with anyone.” His thumb curved her cheek. “Why is that?”

“My dreams are very strange,” she murmured. “I’m starting to feel like the dream you is counseling me.”

“Perhaps your subconscious believes you require it,” he said. “Or, perhaps, I truly am here.”

She laughed. “That’d be something if you were.”

“Are you not offended by the possibility?”

“Hmm,” she paused. Other than a tight twisting in her stomach, she didn’t feel particularly betrayed. Surprised, maybe, she hadn’t considered the thought. Perhaps, she should. “No, I don’t think so. I barely remember a time before visitors wandering my dreams. I was five when my abilities manifested.”

He rested his forehead against hers, his fingers stroking her hair. “Ma ghilana iras thenera'shiral.”

“It’s nice to pretend while we can, if only for a little while,” she murmured. “I don’t know why I need to connect my dreams with reality. Here, I’d... I’d like to imagine who I’d be… or be with; without requirements, expectations, and responsibilities.”

“Perhaps without Ellana sharing your tastes?”

She glanced up and found him grinning. “Solas!”

“It is a perfectly reasonable question,” he replied. “I cannot help but notice your shared interests.”

“I’m not interested Iron Bull.” Eirwen wrinkled her nose. “Or Cullen, or Josephine, or whomever else she’s flirting with this week.” Her eyes lifted. “Maybe, we’re only both interested because you’re the only elf around with any concept of our culture.” Her lips twitched. “Stuffy and disagreeable as you are.”

“Hmm,” he cleared his throat.

She studied him slyly through her lashes. “Besides, I was more interested in your study than you.” Even if he was simply a figment, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “If Ellana finally brings other Dalish into the Inquisition, maybe I’ll pair off with one of them.”

His arm tightened about her, and his eyes grew serious.

“Solas?”

Stretched languidly atop her, he cupped her cheek with his callused hand. His mouth covered hers. Her hands plastered to his chest, tugging at his soft shirt. The snow cool against her back, the heat raging through her. Her back arched as his tongue slipped between her lips. His warm, wet breath shivered on her skin. She burned, sweat slicked in the cold.

Eirwen gasped.

His mouth dropped to her ear, and he murmured in a low voice.

She couldn’t hear, her mind tugged as she fell away. Through the ground, through the snow, tumbling down into the darkened depths. A heavy weight settled against her back, warm tingles on the back of her neck.

A hand shook her shoulder.

Her eyelids flickered, opened, and found herself staring at Varric.

“You okay there, Bright Eyes?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “Why?”

“Well…” he trailed off.

She became aware of a heavy weight resting against her back. Warm breath sweeping her neck, her hair’s quiet rise and fall. An arm tossed across her stomach, and a much larger one pressing on her thigh. Sweat slicked her lower lip. Uncomfortably hot, she rubbed her nose. _Varric, so Solas and Iron Bull._ They both had to be at her back. It felt no different than a cold winter night with the Clan, when they ended up a tangle of arms and legs in the aravel.

Slowly, she wriggled forward.

An arm tightened around her waist. Solas murmured sleepily.

Eirwen froze.

Varric coughed, a cough clearly covering a laugh. “Want some help there, Bright Eyes?”

“I…” she swallowed, recognizing the sensation of a waist pressed to her backside. Pressure felt between the cloth of their two bedrolls. Her cheeks flamed. _Creators, Eirwen!_ she chided herself. _There’s nothing to be embarassed for._ “Yes. Serannas, Varric.”

“Don’t worry,” Varric said, crouching. Leaning forward, he carefully lifted Solas’ arm. “I think Chuckles’ll be more mortified by Iron Bull.”

Without the pressure holding her still, Eirwen slid free of her bedroll and climbed to her feet. Instantly, she regretted that decision. Freed of the oppressive warmth, the winter air sank into her bones. A chill settled on her shoulders. Shivers shook her. Quickly, she scampered to her pack, exchanging a sweaty jacket for a dry one warmed by a pair of small stones. Eirwen summoned her magic, twining tendrils of fire from her core to raise her body heat. Quietly, she claimed the Dalish bow she’d brought in place of a staff. “Sleep well, Varric.”

“If I can,” Varric chuckled. “Not sure I want to be the one Chuckles starts rubbing up against.”

Glancing over at him over her shoulder, Eirwen smiled. “That’s a risk we all take, falon.”

Varric studied her for a moment, thoughtfully running a thick finger over his chin. “Yeah, well, just to be sure, I’ll set up a little further away.”

Unwrapping her heartwood bow, Eirwen stood. Carefully inlaid with runes, it pulsed warmly in her hand. Listening to Varric shuffle in the snow as he slipped into his bedroll, she turned her eyes to the forest. Her eyes went overhead to the moon. By its position and her estimation, there was perhaps five hours left before daybreak.

Behind her, the snow ceased crunching. Varric settled into silence.

She cast a glance over her shoulder at her slumbering companions, and saw them curled up together. Solas himself tiny in the shadow of the Iron Bull, Varric just a little left of them both. An attempt to catch the warmth radiating from the pair without fear of an uncomfortable snuggle. A small smile quirked her mouth. In that respect, dwarves were strange as some humans. Collecting the last of her meatroll from her pack, she headed out toward the cliff. As she did, memory of the kisses in her dreams burned on her lips until she resolved to not think on them further.

 

Solas let out an irritated sigh, his hands tingling with the memory of Eirwen slipping from his grasp. The pleasant dream ending like a whisper, and he left alone on the snow. His body ached, stiff and frustrated. He rolled onto his back.

Here in the Fade, the Frostbacks were pleasantly cool. Comfortable rather than freezing, the insatiable heat of his desires a warm echo from the world where his body lay sleeping. He thought on what he might do. Walk among the memories of the trees, perhaps. Seek out what spirits still remained so near the tear, re-examine the Conclave for clues about Corypheus’ explosion. There was so much time left to see what might be seen and do what might be done.

His hand passed over the snow, surface still warm from Eirwen’s back. Memory of her bright blue eyes alight in his dream’s eye. He might have called up an image, drawn tattered pieces of the Veil to create a pleasing image. A shadow to keep him company. He might have done so, yet decided against it. He desired neither shadows nor pale reconstructions. Aware such actions would leave him open to drawing less friendly spirits of desire, intent on feeding off his emotions. These dreams of theirs risked that enough already.

With a sigh, he pushed his hand up his forehead.

_If Ellana finally brings other Dalish into the Inquisition, maybe I’ll pair off with one of them._

He resented the jealousy that flared over her comment. All his patient resolve evaporating like mist under the harsh light of dawn. He might’ve taken her then, and damned himself in the process. Eirwen was not ready. She danced about the idea, wandered and withdrew. The hesitance present just as much in dreams as it was during her waking hours. For all she spoke brazenly of how what occurred in dreams did not matter, she was frightened. A sexual connection might be enough, but she feared the prospect of emotional bonding. Theirs was a connection born of curiosity, but the seed planted in foolishness now blossomed. A different dream had taken hold in his heart.

Solas sighed. He could not afford a romantic entanglement. Yet, these stubborn desires persisted. Creating hope and passion where none ought to exist. He often thought on Felassan now, how his old friend might laugh at him over his ignorance and the connection he formed with another of the banal’ras. He regretted the hasty anger that resulted in his friend’s death, regretted it all. Wishing now, more than ever, he might seek his guidance. Felassan’s experience dealing with the mortal pace might’ve aided him, dealt with his hastiness. Counseled him in patience, and reminded him to let Eirwen go.

Logically, he knew Eirwen finding a lover among the Dalish would be the best outcome. He ought to tease her over it, push her to pursue a male or female from her own Clan. So she might make the most of the time which remained. He was outside time, and she belonged to the world which spawned her. Any attachment destined to end in sorrow and misery.

Jealousy had no place in heart when all responsibility lay in protecting her from himself.

_Ought. Should. Must._

The words hounded him.

He knew what was required of him, yet he refused to do it. When Eirwen withdrew, he longed to follow her. When she grew frightened, he desperately desired to reassure her. The lies dared not pass his lips, he’d enough control left to avoid false promises. Control enough to keep from scaling the walls into secret gardens. Kept himself from discovering the secret behind her hesitance. He dared not offer the truth or any piece of it, lest her inquisitive mind puzzled through the mystery. He allowed himself close, circled about his past. Danced as she did between what could be said and what could not. He intended to remain at a comfortable distance, staying just close enough. Yet, no matter how he tried she moved in. She did not pursue him. She slipped past his barriers without trying. One gentle hand on his gates, and he swung open.

How had Felassan done it? His jaw clenched. He had not, Solas reminded himself. His death lay in the fact he had not, could not keep himself separated from those sundered. Died for the suggestion they were people, for his betrayal of the People, of Fen’Harel. Eirwen was also banal’rasan, he reminded himself. That consistent reminder grew necessary, and he required more day by day. He missed the lazy, hesitant disconnect he felt when she was not around. Ellana fascinated him, more a person, far brighter than Eirwen. With the Anchor in her hand, she was not sundered. Did he not feel troubled by the Inquisitor? By her attention, her interest? Why could he not feel this for Ellana? He did not. Perhaps, he could not. With the way she chased the love of so many, he knew her interest in him to be far safer. The hazy, lazy dream this dalliance with Eirwen should be. His hand lay on his chest, fingers balled into a fist. What might he do to keep himself from wanting her?

Solas wished he’d the option to visit Wisdom, but even in the Fade that journey would be too long. _I might relax into a dreamless slumber, forgetting all I’ve been. I might travel, just as I might pretend. I could seek out other spirits. Or…_ he could remember there’d be no more peace  until he woke. _Doing such too often would be obvious. It is better to lie still, drift, and in memory with the pleasures of others._ His eyes fell to Haven’s ruins below, a sharpening of his sight returned it to life. Returned to several weeks before Corypheus’ attack. The days he had not been present to witness. He might study them now in the time remaining before dawn.

A small smile quirked his lips.

_Wandering the secret ways in study of wisdom is who I must be, who I should be, and who I am. I must not forget myself nor what must be done._ Yes, he must remember those who slept still. Those who waited for freedom, who could not be returned until he tore down the Veil and cast this shadow world into ruin. No one life mattered more than the soul of the People. He must focus on the Inquisitor, on Corypheus, on the orb, and forget the rest. He’d no time for jealousy nor love

Perhaps, if he repeated the truth to himself often enough his heart would finally remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ma ghilana iras thenera'shiral_ \- You guide where my dreams journey.
> 
> This was mostly just fluff, slightly smutty, with the actors dancing around each other. Getting distracted by what they shouldn't do because they can never relax enough to do it.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Thanks so much for the comments and kudos! I always appreciate them.


	9. Chapter 9

Eirwen walked the cliff’s edge with bow in hand, her eyes on the woods across the road. Her body burned, arduous, hopelessly desirous, and urgent with certain needs. Desires she wasn't ready to give voice to. Gently, she set those aside. There was no reason to miss what she never had and, given the courting rituals witnessed with the Clan, perhaps better she never did. Beyond Dirthara's attempts to teach her about masturbation and Suledin kissing her at the Arlathvhen five years ago, she'd tripped over enough fools in the midst of or post-coitus in the woods. At seven, she'd watched farmers' daughters and farmers' sons press each other to stone walls behind the taverns or tumble into barns. At nine, Deshanna asked her to sit in and watch her mediate disputes. In that first meeting, her training as the Clan's Dirthda'din'an began.

The Speaker of Little Deaths served as a median for their Clan to express grief. It was their duty to hear issues, and counsel Clan members through their problems. Often those revolved around romances, relationships, and even marriages which failed to work out. When Iseth was with them, they hadn't needed another First and the other apprentices were better suited to other studies.

She hadn't minded. Grief was the process of endings and beginnings, a life of endless little deaths. When each emotion and connection began as new life and each ending a death. It was necessary to give all death its time of mourning regardless of size or importance. She mourned the father she barely remembered, and the mother she remembered nothing of beyond the day she left. Mourned the ghost of the person she might have been had one lived and the other stayed. _Lath'din nadas._ Love inevitably ended. Learning when to be restrained and when to let go was a process which took a lifetime. She had found a path to walk and a means to reach the little, unseen deaths lost in the dark.

_Sometimes, grief is hidden and must be uncovered. Only then might it be released._

Those were Deshanna's words. Pain became truth and the truth was often painful, sifting through the lies they all told themselves. She trained herself on the process of letting go, and overcoming the fear there might be nothing left when she did. All people clung to positives as well as negatives, repeated the same patterns learned over and over. Still, she hadn't mastered the process.

 _Your vice is control_ , Deshanna had told her before she left.  _You spend too much time letting go of what is important, you must learn how to hold on and how to let others in. You have lived looking outward, it is time to turn your gaze inward. Live selfishly._

Eirwen sighed, feet shifting on the snow. She’d never had a great deal of difficulty letting her body’s needs go unfulfilled. There was a time and a place for everything, and the waking hours was no time to contemplate her dreams. Drawing in another breath, she exhaled. Eye catching on the faint glints of red moving among the trees, her mouth tightened. _No time when battle is soon to come._ Her finger traced the curve of her bow, molded rather than carved. Craftsmaster Ielas had created it for her, inlaid it with small crystals meant to enhance her mystical abilities.

 _‘Tis no good you going, lass. Not if the shemlen recognize a mage for a mage. They may stare at two hunters on the road, but see a mage and they’ll call for the Templars. Then, where’ll you be? Especially if you manage to find your way into a whole nest of ‘em?_  

He’d given her a bow instead, asking she remember the archery lessons Sa’assan Irasael inflicted on her weekly. Though at nowhere near the frequency of the hunters, Irasael insisted all mages in the Clan must know how to fight with knives and with their hands, how to ride and how to shoot. Learned to cast while under threat. She remembered the trips they took into the mountains during her pre-teen years, Iseth squawking about inappropriate training. Irasael countering the other children came later to their powers, and benefitted from Dalish training.

In those deep woods, he taught her to survive. It was paramount, he said, she learn to survive without magic. How to ghost in the world when she’d no luxury of casting. There was no way to know what changes the winds would bring, or dangers the shemlen might pose. He’d been hard on her, she remembered. Maybe to keep her from Iseth and the inevitable necessity of tracking her down when she scampered off to hide from their former First. Perhaps because he’d once been her father’s blood brother, or the Keeper’s son Suledin could be roused to focus when she practiced with the targets. The Dalish had not the luxury of a single lost mage, he’d told her. Whether they walked with the Clans or not, no matter where they traveled in this world. That which was precious must learn to protect itself.

She could shoot, and hunt, and track. Nowhere near a hunter's caliber, she put on a convincing show for those who did not know what to look for. At this point, hiding the true extent of her potential was habit. Power was to be conserved, left for later.

Power attracts danger, Irasael often said. As she followed the Vir Atish’an and Vir Din’an, she must also follow Vir Tel’revas’an. The way of restraint within. In this world, where magic was feared by the shemlen, too much power endangered others. If the humans knew true Dalish strength, they would face pogroms. Their people could not afford another. Many Dalish would die, many whose their lives and knowledge were irreplaceable. The Chantry left them be when they assumed their people too weak to fight or challenge established authority.

The saeva knew this truth, their power threatened the clan as they protected it. That was the dual edged price of magic. The time often came when it was necessary for one of their people to walk a path that took them into shemlen lands in search of spiritual understanding. Though there were many roads to wisdom and knowledge, theirs remained the same journey. They traveled as one under the sun and sky.

_Virsa'shiral._

Their hearts one. Their hopes one. Their spirit one.

Eirwen drew a deep breath, and repeated the mantra.

_Power reserved. Discipline in casting._

_Fear excised. Strength hidden._

_Peace in Shadow, Silence in Death, Restraint in Power._

That was the Way of the Evasha in Clan Lavellan.

Her eyes closed, a small smile tweaking the corners of her mouth. _Ellana once said I’m the weakest mage in the Inquisition_. _She’s never had to hide._ _Never struggled against the tide, never decided whether today is the day she lets go_. Over the past six years since taking the vallaslin, the only times she’d let her strength out was when she traveled alone. There were many secrets of the Clan necessary to protect. _Clan Lavellan’s memory reaches back to the days of Arlathan, and many more secrets were uncovered in our travels._ The magic of the Dales lingered within all Clan Lavellan's mages, and they carried their secrets forward.

Solas being impressed by her ability to read ancient elvish should not have been a shock, not when her Clan passed the memory down one to the next.

Orange burned to the left, a blur in her peripheral vision. Her mind dragged free of her thoughts as her eyes caught on a fleck of fire on the hill to the west, at the top of the mountain pass. An ox dragging a long wooden wagon behind it. Followed by a few merchants, they’d begun to strike up a few bawdy songs.

Her stomach sank. _They must’ve traveled through the night._ The mountain pass from Skyhold to Haven had never been safe, but many merchants came to regard it as the quickest down the mountain. For those religiously inclined, it doubled as a pilgrimage of sorts. They came to see the Herald of Andraste's birthplace, where the Maker reached out his hand and rescued the world's hope from the Fade. _T_ _his is why Cullen needs troops holding this area._ Grinding her teeth, her eyes returned to the dark woods and the glittering ruby lights within it. She counted three, three at least.

Kneeling, Eirwen drew on the gentle flow of the Veil. Magic sparked between her fingers. White light formed a small ball on her palm, condensing in a thin bit of rope. She lifted her bow as the line of light strung from one tip to the other. A shining arrow appeared, knocked between her thumb and forefinger. Calmly, she leveled her weapon at the woods opposite the road and the shadows within.

If the Reds hadn’t heard the merchants yet, they would soon. Now, there was no telling what they knew or at which point along the road they might launch an attack. _If they attack at all._ She could  dash back for the others or blow the horn to rouse them. If she left, she risked losing the merchants. If she blew the horn, she announced their presence to the Reds. Reports from all areas across Thedas suggested the larger the party then the greater the risk. They took merchants and refugees, but their preferred targets were soldiers. _Best not to risk it, if we can avoid the fight._ She supposed she might wake them as she had Lavellan’s hunters countless times before, but the hunters knew what they experienced. Bull, Varric, perhaps even Solas might think they were under attack. _All answers are bound to make the problem worse._

 _Besides,_ the slightly naughtier side of her murmured, _if the others sleep you can let go._

A wry smile curled on her mouth, that was true. Quietly, she let the magic sink into the soles of her feet then down into the soil. Down to where the roots of the trees entwined with the earth, then further to sense out the rocks, the soil, and any caves with openings facing the road. The trees at her back shivered in anticipation. As the merchants drew closer, her smile widened.

In a moment, this might become rather fun.

 

Solas awoke to a horn blaring in the distance and the ground rumbling beneath him. He swung to his feet, legs scrabbling out of his bedroll. An alert Bull rolled onto his back, hand reaching for his axe. Varric jerked awake, Bianca raised. Solas grabbed his staff, his eyes moving quickly around the clearing. He needn’t count, there were three. One was missing.

“Where’s Bright Eyes?” Varric asked.

“Where do you think?” Iron Bull said with a grin. “Where the fighting is!”

Solas’ mouth set in a grim line, he did not like the idea they’d been left behind.

 _No,_ his traitorous brain whispered. _You dislike the fact she left you, only you._

Rubbing his forehead, he climbed to his feet. This was no time to engage in childish navel gazing, he reminded himself. Without a doubt, a perfectly logical explanation existed.  “She might have walked the ridge overlooking the road during her watch.”

“Perhaps she saw something,” Varric added. “Couldn’t come back and get us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bull said. “The fight’s happening now. The sound came from the road. If we run, we’ll be there before it ends.”

“Not like we had much to collect anyway,” Varric sighed.

Solas ignored them and headed for the trees, his steps quickened until he broke into a run. Bull came right behind him, feet pounding the ground. Then, raced past him. The virtue of longer legs, Solas thought. He was almost amused. They passed the trees where he’d walked with Eirwen earlier, the sky shifting overhead from a true black to gray.

When they reached the ridge, Bull came to a stop. “Well…” Bull trailed off, “shit.”

Right behind him, Solas saw what he meant. An unearthly mist swarmed the road, obscuring much of it from view. He saw shadows moving within, ears echoing with the screams. Reaching the cliff’s edge, he looked down.

Four giant roots had broken through rock face. Hanging over the road like a set of giant arms, they created a path down the twenty foot drop to the road. The last root continued after the others ended, rolling across the road and away into the mist. Where it disappeared, a wall of earth appeared. Shearing through the mist, the strange earth wall formed circled a cart full of goods. A barrier that protected them from the battle and left them visible in the mist. Solas saw two frightened merchants hunkered down in their wagon. A third stood with the oxen, trying to keep them under control. The beasts shifted, eyes rolling with terror.

His eyes shifted to the battle. Thick shadows slithered in the mist like snakes, barely visible in the morning light. They danced about, whipping and striking at shafts of burning red light. Distant screams followed, the shrieks and howls of dying men.

Varric’s footsteps crunched in the snow behind them. Walking to the cliff's edge, he sighed. “Guess Bright Eyes has been holding out on us.”

Surprised by Varric's lack of surprise, Solas glanced at him. “I believed the Templars negated a mage’s ability to perform magic."

Varric grinned. “Never seen a Dalish Keeper in action, huh?”

Solas glanced at him, his mouth pulling into a tight line. It almost shamed him to admit he had not. After waking, he’d found little to interest him in the Dalish. Their appearance, their state in the world, their prideful, ignorant devotion to worship of the Evanuris offended him. It pained him to look upon them, the last shallow bastion of _elven_ culture in Thedas. The spirits themselves had little to offer, certainly nothing he desired to witness. They were a sundered people, lost and clinging to scraps of a once noble heritage. What else had there been to see?

“I was surprised too, Chuckles,” Varric said. “You may want to look a little harder.”

A scream pierced the fog as a behemoth's great a ruby hump broke free. Another shadow shifted, grinding the earth beneath its great coils, then slithered after it. Solas thought the movements reminiscent of the pythons in Ghilnan'nain's jungle demesnes. The creature flowed into view, its long body rising out of the fog as it wound itself about the behemoth.

It was, Solas realized. A great snake like those Ghilnan'nain once created for Andruil's forests, massive and rippling. Skin formed of… Solas’ breath caught, _wood_.

The snake clenched the abomination tight with its coils. Its great wooden head reared out of the fog. Eirwen stood on it’s neck, the Dalish bow in hand; string glimmering like starlight. Short, orange hair fluttering in the freezing wind, she fired phantom arrows at unseen targets on the ground. Her creature unlatched its jaws and seized the behemoth’s head. Its teeth sank into the ruby shell, mouth erupting in ice. Blue-white frost flash froze the uneven ruby surface. The wooden snake bit down, coils tightening.

The behemoth shrieked. Its hump cracking under the strain. Red light burned through the gaps as it fractured, shattering in a rain of red shards.

“Hey, Varric,” Bull muttered.

“Yeah?” Varric glanced at him.

“Remind me never to piss Pip off.”

Varric laughed. “Could of told you that before, Muscles.”

Solas glared at the pair, frustrated. “We must get down there!”

“I think she’s doing okay,” Bull said. “That’s one crazy snake.”

Solas shook his head, his fingers clenching around his staff. The fog obscured whatever warriors remained on the road. He doubted she’d killed them all.

 _Yet,_ his mind whispered.

The earth rumbled beneath their feet. A wave of energy spun about the surviving Templars. Enhanced by the lyrium growing free of their bodies, their blight given powers were potent. They had a magical energy of their own.

The wave slammed into Eirwen’s snake, traveled through it. The creature collapsed, crashing to the earth. It landed heavily on the fallen behemoth, throwing snow and dust into the air. The fog fled outward, detritus settled, and the road cleared.

Solas bit back a yell, his heart lodged in his throat. The Veil twisted around him. He was only slightly out of range to ease her fall. No matter how he might stretch out. His power proved too little, his body, blood, and spirit all left weak from his long sleep. He needn’t have worried.

Eirwen leapt free of her collapsing serpent. A blue light slid across her as she recast her barrier, and she landed lightly on the snow. The bow returning to its place on her back. Her hands rose, magic flared across her fingers. With a single flick, a collection of vines speared up out of the ground. The vines seized hold of the closest Templar. They slithered up his legs, sneaking through the holes in his armor and pierced him through. The Templar collapsed, flowers blooming from his mouth. Settling back on one leg, Solas watched Eirwen's posture shift into a defensive stance as she counted her remaining enemies.

 _There are six, perhaps seven left,_ he thought. _Her powers are clearly unaffected. However, after so large a summon, her mana reserves must be nearing exhaustion._ “Varric, do you count any more than eight?”

“I saw seven,” Varric replied. “Though there might be some in the trees.”

Iron Bull shifted next to them, peering over the edge. “Looks like she avoided that magical lockout the Templars do too.”

“Don’t tell me you’re impressed,” Varric said, his voice mild.

“Just mulling over how fun it’d be to fight one on one,” Bull replied. “I’m edging toward an eight.”

“For a moment I forgot I was traveling with a qunari,” Solas snapped. “Do you rate all friendships on a ten point scale between incredibly weak and destined to kill?”

Bull chuckled. “It’s worked well for me in the past. You're at four, Solas.”

Solas stiffened.

Varric sighed. “Could we, maybe, try to focus here?” He pointed at the road. “They’re attacking again.”

Three Templars raced forward, shields forward and blades at the ready.

Eirwen danced a few steps back. The vines whipping about her wrapped together into her a protective dome. Her hand lay on it, and more roots shot off the wriggling surface. Their tips twisted into spikes, they slammed through three of the oncoming Reds.

Solas glanced at the others. “We cannot leave this to her alone!”

“Sure, she’s had her fun. Let’s have ours,” Bull grinned. “Barrier me up, Solas!”

With a sigh, Solas did as he asked. Light flickered on his fingers as he manipulated the delicate balance of the Veil. Flicking his fingers, he lay the protection over Bull; sure he knew what would come next.

Bull leapt off the cliff, plunging twenty feet to the hard, frozen ground. He sprang forward without breaking stride. Bellowing, he raced into battle.

Solas sighed. After a while, the rapid shifts in attention, personality, and action grew tiresome.

A behemoth stumbled from the forest. It titled about on its points, screaming. Its club dragged on the ground behind it. The surviving Templars flanked the creature as two archers with bows drawn exiting the shadows beneath the trees. They fired on Eirwen’s protective shell. Fire roared to life as the arrows exploded. Flames cascaded down across the plants, glimmering with bright orange and red. The gray blur that was Bull raced across the road toward them, his axe high.

“Here goes, Chuckles.” Varric sucked in a stiff breath and dropped off the edge to the first foothold.

Solas followed, one eye on the fight.

Eirwen rolled out from behind her burning protection. He saw one hand light as Bull raced past her, the other reaching back around into her pouch. A silver shimmer covered them both, re-application of their barriers. Without any verbal communication, Bull went right and she dodged left. The bow across her back, she held a small black circle in one hand. The other rested on the pommel of her knife. In the next moment, she was on her feet. The black circle uncoiled, and began to spin.

A chain, Solas realized. He leapt lightly to the next root, continuing after as Varric made his descent. _She fights with a chain, certain movements may require two hands. Therefore, she does not truly require hand signs to cast._

The chain spun, looping in a circle next to her body. She sent it outward with a flick of her wrist. It flew through the air and caught, wrapping itself about an oncoming Templar’s sword. The chain went taut. Another yank and the sword came free. It spun away through the air, landing with a clatter on the frozen ground. In the next instant, the chain and bladed tip returned alight in flames. The tip lodged in the disarmed Templar’s throat, fire catching on his skin.

He screamed or tried to, blood gurgling from his windpipe as he fell.

Eirwen sidestepped to the left, narrowly missing another Templar lunging from stealth. She whipped about, the chain returning to her. She caught the front half with her free hand. Swinging sideways, she looped her chain about the first of the second Templar’s blades and secured it tight. She went past him in a whirl, dragging his dagger free of his hands. Released, it flew high. She caught it, driving the blade smoothly through the back of his neck.

Varric fired into the next two coming at her. Bianca’s bolts pierced through their armor, and sent them to the ground.

Solas landed on the ground and raced forward, his eyes moving to where Bull had begun his dance with the behemoth. They could not both cover Eirwen, and it seemed she was more than capable of looking after herself. He sent a blast of fire into the behemoth, aware of Eirwen racing toward them from the other side. Bull dodged a strike by the heavy club, bringing his axe down on the creature’s arm.

Roots broke through the ground, wrapping about the behemoth’s legs. Another pair lashed out, seizing the creature’s arms. Eirwen shouted, “now, Bull! Solas!”

Solas gathered the primordial energies in his hands. Summoning a boulder out of the Fade, he sent it flying into the behemoth. With Eirwen’s roots and vines wrapped themselves about the misshapen creature had nowhere to go, the boulder slammed into its bulging crystalline exterior. The full force of the blow rocked the creature, cracks rippling across the red surface. Drawing on the Veil, he cast another. Small cracks exploded into fissures.

Iron Bull spun round, axe lifting high, and brought it down. The blade sheared through the behemoth’s hump in a clean strike, swinging back about to rest on Bull’s shoulder. The behemoth fractured, crumbled, and tumbled to the frozen ground — save for those parts held by root and vine. It’s remains glimmered like scattered rubies on the blood spattered snow.

 Solas pushed his hand up his forehead, biting back his surprise. The battle went far better than expected. They’d moved as a unit, without questioning Eirwen’s commands. Despite the uncertain beginnings, they were a team. He had not expected it, and discovered himself gratified by the realization.

Eirwen had a way of drawing others to her, and they fell in naturally with her quiet leadership. They'd gone from squabbling to teamwork. Their respective experience in battle certainly had much to do with it, but... Solas trailed off as his eyes searched for her. They found and followed Eirwen as she walked forward, hands rising. Watched her slowly lower the earth wall protecting the merchants.

He ought to offer assistance, he knew. Yet, after such a battle, he was curious to see what remained of her strength. Sundered as she was, he certainly could not link with her. Nor did he wish for the closeness a link might bring. After all, two elves did far more than share magic when they joined their energies together. Rejuvenation and strength, perhaps, but they gained an intimate understanding also. In this world, where he was half-blind in the shadow’s silence such a connection might prove too much. _Were it even possible._ The bitterness in that thought nipped his soul.

The wall rumbled, sliding back into the ground, gone a moment later.

Eirwen brushed off her hands. Her eyes surveyed the quivering merchants on their cart, the oxen tossing their heads and pawing the ground. She glanced to Varric, who nodded. Solas watched her cross the field to him, her face reddened by the battle but otherwise uninjured. He saw her hand slip into her pouch, withdrawing some jerky. She ate quickly, methodically, almost mechanically before returning what remained of her snack where it belonged.

“I see you have been busy building walls, lethallan,” he said when she drew near, ensuring his voice remained light and playful. “I hope the practice was useful.”

Eirwen grimaced, pushing her fingers through her hair. “I suppose.” Her contemplative eyes moved past him to where the dead lay. “Earth is much easier to manipulate than stone.”

Solas took the opportunity to study her. He saw eyes unshadowed, without a hint of regret or pain. No sorrow existed within them. Or, if those emotions did exist, she did not express them openly. His gaze swept over her again. Her posture expressed neither excitement nor bloodlust. She was calm; perhaps resolute. _Strange,_ he thought. Inquisitor Ellana took pleasure in the deaths of the humans she killed. She’d no care for their affiliation or their status, she enjoyed killing. “You do not take pleasure in battle.”

Eirwen’s eyes returned to him. Her head tilted, the corner of her mouth lifting ruefully. “What is there to enjoy?”

He frowned. For a moment, it felt as if their situation was reversed. She ought to ask him questions, yet he could not battle away his own curiosity. “Some take pride in their skill, and their ability to use it,” he replied. “Some like Bull enjoy the bloodlust battle brings. Some find a sense of purpose and fulfillment, even power in taking another’s life.”

Her gaze dropped, and she stepped past him.

Perhaps, he’d offended her.

A few steps away, she lifted her hand and held it out to him. “Walk with me?”

Glad she hadn’t lapsed into silence, he followed her. Eirwen easily held conversations when she wished, but, when she became enigmatic, those same conversation became an onerous task similar to removing teeth. After that, he found he could not talk to her; even their comfortable silence grew tense. He suspected much that made him uncomfortable came down to his insecurity, his inability to feel the emotions of her sundered self. Coupled her remarkable skill when it came to reading others, he found himself not quite able to gain the higher ground. He might have joked of his interest in seeing her will dominated, but the task proved far more difficult than the suggestion.

When they were finally out of the merchant's sight, Eirwen glanced up at him with a smile. “Serannas. After the battle, I think my presence made the oxen uncomfortable.”

“I see,” he paused, “then your desire to leave their presence is understandable.”

“Do you enjoy battle, Solas?”

Solas found himself studying the planes of her face. Her round cheeks, small nose, both reddened from exercise. “No, I do not. Battle is often necessary, however I do not enjoy the taking of life. Not when one might be spared, or their future changed.”

“How fortunate,” Eirwen murmured. “Among the Dalish, we don’t often have the luxury of mercy. One might argue any move we make other than avoiding humans entirely is the wrong one.” Her eyes closed and her small smile widened. “If we walk the pond without ripples, no danger may come.”

Solas leaned forward. “A single ripple creates larger ripples thus increasing the chance of danger.”

Eirwen laughed, her bright eyes returning to him. “You know your metaphors.”

“My journeys in the Fade have taught me of many cultures,” he said. “They share a great deal, and their wisdom is often similar. Battle cannot always be avoided, however. What is it the Dalish do when they cannot avoid a fight?”

“I can’t speak for the other Clans, but in Clan Lavellan kill those who threaten us,” Eirwen replied. “Afterward, we dress the body, make it seem like their death was an accident, and leave it for the wilds."

"The days or even weeks which pass between when the offender goes missing and when their body is recovered would increase the difficulty in discerning what killed them," he said. "Though given the mysteries surrounding your people, one might believe any unfortunate death to be the result of their actions."

"Yes,” she sighed, “sometimes, they come regardless. Sometimes, we're framed for murder. Or a noble hires mercenaries to drive us off. It's difficult to know, sometimes, when violence is necessary and when it isn't.”

“Such as it was today,” he said, deciding against phrasing the statement as a question. He would give her the benefit of the doubt, and assume she would’ve returned for aid if given the opportunity.

Her eyes left him, moving to the valley, and the ruins of Haven. He saw the shadows then, as if she were recounting the battle and the lives lost. Her mouth thinning into a tight, sorrowful line.

He’d aided the Inquisitor in defending Corypheus, but even wandering Haven in his dreams revealed little in regard to her. Many of those he might’ve turned to had fled and those who remained had more interesting subjects to pay attention to. They flocked to him with tales of the Inquisitor, the battles of Haven, and many of the Circle mages who’d arrived. Yet, few had a word to say about her. _A Dalish seeks to leave behind fewer ripples,_ he thought. A phrase he might ascribe to himself. She did so, apparently. Too well, he decided. The lack of attention she drew from spirits proved frustrating, it forced him to ask questions. He disliked the idea she might be more honest with him in dreams.

Eirwen pushed her fingers through her hair, tucking a few loose bangs behind one ear. Her smile turned rueful. “I’ll admit, I misjudged the number of Red Templars but I couldn’t leave the merchants.”

“Would you had you been among your Clan?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “There’d be other dangers to consider then and new problems might result. Battle creates its own ripples, Solas. We make our choices, but can’t control what happens next.” She glanced at him, her smile small. “As Sa'asha says, all we can do is take comfort in believing our choices were right at the time.”

Solas stiffened, despite himself. Dalish wisdom stuck in his throat, a bitter pill he could not swallow. How could her people pretend at wisdom when they'd lost so much? Their decisions often were wrong. He cost them Arlathan and immortality, perhaps, but they created a nation of their own only to lose it. Their people fractured across the world, carrying tattered shreds of memory. Claiming to know all when they knew nothing. Surely, she must see that. “What does your Sa’asha say occurs when a terrible choice is made? When the destructions echoes, when… shall we say, a boulder is tossed into the lake and destroys all life within the pond?”

Eirwen paused, her eyes softened, and a sad sort of pity touched her smile. “There are no wrong choices, only paths whose wisdom we’ve yet to see.”

His upper lip curled into a sneer. “I suppose you will tell me next that the gods willed it! That I would do better to heed their wisdom and your Dalish teachings! Or perhaps you will attempt to give me some other false comfort? I require none of your Clan’s shallow compassion, your parroted idioms, nor poorly contrived wisdom!” he continued, his voice rising. “Nor do I need your condescension! Clearly, you’ve all the answers. You never need consider your path in life might be wrong!”

He regretted his outburst the moment after the words left his mouth. They’d not been talking of him, he remembered, and she was not Vivienne. Despite all else, she meant well. He had not meant to hurt her. _I offer her the opportunity to open up, and then lash out._ She would not trust him again. Despair welled in the dark, empty cavern serving as his heart. He did know in the moment which he was more surprised by, his despair or his worry he might lose her company. His jaw clenched. _Once, I prided myself on my self-control. Once! It was not so long ago._ Where had it gone?

Eirwen tilted her head, a faint flush on her cheeks. Her hand paused just beneath her eye, fingertip tracing the length of her scar.

“Ir abelas, Eirwen,” he began. “I did not mean…”

She held up her hand. “Don’t apologize.” Her voice was firm, but her eyes... they were gentle. They pitied him, and perhaps it was her pity that angered him most. “We’re both too intelligent to pretend, Solas. There’s nothing to apologize over when you said what you felt.”

“You cannot mean that,” he said, exasperated. “I do not understand you, Eirwen. I let my emotions get the better of me. I insulted your people.”

“You don’t care a whit for my people,” Eirwen replied.

“Very well,” he sighed. “I insulted _you_. You who has never been anything but unfailingly kind to those around you. You have been a good companion and a good friend. You listen, which is more than most. You did not deserve to be the recipient of my anger.”

“You do explode a bit like a powder keg when you get offended,” she agreed, her tone entirely amiable. “You should work on that.”

He pushed his hand up his forehead. “Eirwen!”

Her head tilted, her lips pursed as she studied him. “Your opinion doesn’t decide who I am, Solas," she said. "Neither does your disdain.”

“Have you never considered you might be wrong?” he asked. “That your people might be, about those you see as deities?” It was such a foolish line of questioning, yet he could not stop himself. “That they might not have been deities at all?”

Eirwen frowned.

He paused, leaning forward. The Dalish answered this question before, yet he was surprised by how much he wished to hear her response.

Silent for several long moments, she lapsed into contemplation. Her eyes moving from him to the sky overhead, a faint smile twisting on her mouth. “Of course, I have doubts," she said at last. "There is no faith in isolation. Left unquestioned, faith transforms to righteousness."

He stared at her, wondering. "Yet you wear the vallaslin of Falon'din," he said at last, unsure of what else he wanted to say.

Eirwen sighed. "Vallaslin is a rite of passage, a sign of what... cast, I suppose, I belong to. Before I left, I was chosen to train as Dirthda'din'an. I don't have faith in the gods, my faith is with myself and with my people. I’m not even certain our gods exist, Solas. If they do, they’re not certainly not here.” She tapped her lower lip. “Dalish legend says Fen’Harel tricked them and the Forgotten Ones into looking for secret weapons to end their war in the Beyond and the Void, then sealed them away. No prayers will reach them. We're on our own.”

He blinked, that story rang surprisingly close to the truth. His mind turned next to the word Dirth'da'din'an. It translated directly to Speaker of Little Deaths. Grief Speaker, he supposed, though he might have expected Sule to be the word of choice _. Perhaps, the Dalish feel assumption of enduring loss to be presumptuous. Or, they feel it does not speak to the position's_ _purpose._ Offended as he was by their continual worship of the Evanuris, he had not thought much on their legends.

“There’s many different legends though, no one knows for certain what happened. 'Where Willow’s Wail' tells of the fall too and suggests there was a war,” Eirwen continued. “Vor’nadas san banal’him emma abel revas.”

“To the inevitable and troubling freedom we are committed,” he echoed.

“Keeper Deshanna collected it from peddler selling a book of Denerim nursery rhymes,” Eirwen said. “She’s always believed the elves in the cities hold their own understanding of our past. Virsa’elvhen durgella sa’telas.”

 _We are one people under one sky,_ her words were a catch in his throat.

“Our gods aren’t… they aren’t people, Solas,” she said. “If they ever were, they’ve become something else. Guides, I suppose. Our traditions teach us how to survive, how to live. Sometimes, they teach us how to die. They evolve as we do. Each Clan has legends of their own, and they often contradict. This teaches us there are two kinds of wisdom,” her voice thundered in his ears, “there’s a difference between having knowledge and an awareness of the world. A difference between knowing, and using that knowledge to make intelligent choices. We know there is no certainty in the past. The legends now exist to explain how we live in the present, not how our ancestors did in Arlathan or the Dales. Those days are lost to us, and they will never come again.”

Solas did not understand why the world caved beneath him, or why he suddenly felt like he was falling. His body did not move, but his mind... his mind tumbled. New thoughts formed, new worries, new fears, a wave of guilt and shame swamped him. Terrible thoughts, running through his mind. New analysis of old decisions, once again reminding him how wrong they were. While his mind whirled, his chest ached. A sensation he’d not felt in the entire year he’d wandered this banal’rasan cracked him open. He did not like it, this sudden surge of hope. He did not like the gravity wrapping about his mental feet nor the sudden weightlessness of his mind balancing now balancing out his despair. Simultaneously trapped and freed.

He was not absolved, he knew.

He was not.

He could not be.

“Solas?” Her hand pressed his brow. “Are you alright?”

His hands grasped her shoulders. “Why must you be so…” he found he could not finish the sentence, he did not know how it ended. Wonderful? She certainly was that. Young? That as well. Foolish? Certainly. Frustrating? Not a doubt existed in his mind. Wise? He’d begun to believe she might be. Real? The word hovered on the tip of his tongue. A horrible truth in this uncomfortable dream. “Why must you be so incapable of accepting a simple apology!”

She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t actually apologizing.” Her hand pushed him away. “When you express some actual remorse, I’ll accept it.”

Solas sighed. “What other emotion might I possibly be expressing then, lethallan?”

“Fear.”

He blinked. “Fear? What could I possibly be frightened of?”

“Loss,” Eirwen said. “You're lonely and heartsick, just like Ellana. I don't know where your home was, but I know it's gone. In a way, I’m glad you're frightened. It means you care about losing what you've found. However,” she lay her hand over his heart, “a fearful apology is about your feelings, a remorseful one is about mine.”

“I…” he paused, aware he’d again developed more respect for her incredible, unerring accuracy. “I will think on it.”

Eirwen smiled. “That’s all I ask.”

He did not enjoy the befuddled confusion muddling his thoughts, nor his sudden desire to stop her when she stepped back. Other emotions swirled in his chest, strange emotions. Among them existed an odd easing of his loneliness. The desires of his body he contemplated in his waking hours and tormented him in his dreams raged again, raged distantly because new desires broke through his mind's surface. He wondered if he loved her, or if what he felt now was simple admiration.

_A fearful apology is about your feelings, a remorseful one is about mine._

He swallowed. The suggestion of discourtesy bothered him about as much as the selfishness. He wasn’t sure which felt worse, the fact she accused him of not caring about her feelings or that she was in all probability correct. He opened his mouth, ready to question her more.

At that moment, Varric called out from above them. The merchants wanted to speak with Eirwen.

She turned with a smile, climbing back the way they’d come.

Solas stood on the road, alone with his thoughts. He found the quietness of that solitude far more painful than it’d been a moment earlier. Yet, he did not know what to do about the pain.

 _Think about someone other than yourself,_ the traitor voice whispered. _Treat her like one of your people._ _You would be ashamed of your apology then. Ma sethabelas, Fen'Harel. Your sorrow is thin.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas is always in a hurry. I didn't expect him to get so heated at the end there though. I got the feeling Eirwen was going to prod him into character development, but I thought it'd take longer.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always I appreciate the comments and the kudos! I love hearing what you guys think!


	10. Chapter 10

After successfully guiding the merchants down from the mountains and submitting a report to Cullen at an Inquisition waystation on the state of Haven, Eirwen, Solas, Varric, and Iron Bull continued on toward the Storm Coast. The main thoroughfare would take them north past Gherlen’s Pass Lake Calenhad to and into the Imperial Highway. Cullen’s troops were still working to clear both western and eastern sides of the lake, with many local lords failing to offer up much in the way of troops. King Alistair promised them what he could, but the Bannorn hid the Gray Warden hero away behind Denerim’s walls. They were far less forthcoming in promises than their king, and there were many who’d similarly fled for the safety of their castles, strongholds, and city walls while tears in the Veil formed on their lands.

It was all the Inquisition could to hold the main roads, and keep the routes open for refugees to flee. She’d certainly listened to Cullen complain often enough about their lack of manpower and money, how easy it would be if the Banns simply offered something more than a token. His troops were aided primarily by local militias formed and trained by Leliana’s scouts. The Circle mages taken in at Redcliffe were mostly refugees, scholars, researchers, and teachers. They were powerful, but they’d little battle experience and fielding them against spirits was a danger all on its own. One with the potential to harm more than help. Battle was dangerous, confusing, painful, and terrifying. As powerful artillery units, mages were under far more pressure and the resulting, inevitable deaths felt more keenly. Many of the most battle hardened had fallen during the civil war or been inducted into the Venatori long before Ellana reached them.

When those conversations occurred, she refrained from pointing out to Cullen this was a flaw in the Circle’s training methods. Dalish mages rarely fell prey to spirits, but they also had a chance to live and experience the world rather than being locked away from the sun. _Still,_ she sighed. Blame games rarely helped when staring down the barrel of a crisis, and at present working together to stall the impending apocalypse was more important than lashing another over principle. She just nudged Ellana every so often to ensure the same mistakes weren’t repeated on the Inquisition’s watch.

Eirwen was a little surprised she hadn’t found a courier waiting with an urgent missive from Ellana saying she’d changed her mind and demanding Solas to travel east. Then again, Ellana didn’t quite comprehend the concept of couriers despite having been one herself. She also had no trust in non-Dalish individuals surviving the wilds. Eirwen had hoped against all reason and common sense that her Clanmate might've overcome her prejudices, but there’d been no messages at all. With no demands and no orders came no way to escape the suffocating silence growing between her and Solas.

 _Caused by my own stupid tongue,_ she thought, walking next to Varric. She’d known better. Knew his pompous superiority, knew that the wisdom of her people inevitably resulted in either snide asides or a complete shutdown. He was always quick to say the Dalish were not his people, that the elves were not, though he spoke the language and seemed to know more of their ancient ways than any she’d met other than the Sylva and Telva. A strangeness all its own, as the Sylva and Telva were those members of Clan Lavellan who maintained ancient shrines to Falon’din, Sylaise, and Dirthamen in the heights of the Vimmark mountains. Many hahren of Clan Lavellan retired with them when the days proved too long and the journey too difficult, and took their din’anshiral up into the mountains. _For someone with such a passion for elven history, he certainly hates our gods._ No, what Solas hated about the Dalish was their religion. She didn’t understand it and he wouldn’t explain. _He treats us like our religion is the sum total of who we are… like we’re foolish children, playing in the dirt… like we’re… savages._

Solas’ voice echoed in her head.

_I suppose you will tell me next that the gods willed it! That I would do better to heed their wisdom and your Dalish teachings! Or perhaps you will attempt to give me some other false comfort? I require none of your Clan’s shallow compassion, your parroted idioms, nor poorly contrived wisdom! Nor do I need your condescension! Clearly, you’ve all the answers. You never need consider your path in life might be wrong!_

His superiority stemmed from a belief they were wrong, yes, but he took it so personally. He assumed their entire understanding of the world came from their gods, rather than lived experience. It wasn’t just that, either. He was disappointed and hurt, like he expected her people to be something other than what they were. He did so despite knowing nothing about them.

Eirwen didn’t know if she was offended or hurt by what he’d said. He certainly hadn’t said anything to her she hadn’t heard before, and often phrased more cruelly. The dissatisfied and unhappy were always offended by those who were satisfied, who found happiness. Misery loved company and contentment a bitter pill to those who wanted more. She’d tasted such bitterness herself, when she was young. The circumstances of the emotions were different, but she understood his feelings all too well. Solas wasn’t angry with the Dalish or with her, his anger stemmed from believing the elves weren’t what he thought they should be.

He certainly wasn’t alone in that sentiment, she thought. Every young Dalish warrior inevitably thrashed at the position their people were in versus their dreams longing for the glories of their past. Many young city elves who ran off to find the People were disappointed when the reality failed to compete with their fantasy. The criticisms were simultaneously wrong and right. No reality could match the dream, but in chasing the fantasy they would always be dissatisfied. A dream could not warm and it could not love, it provided nothing more than a pleasant distraction. They were safe and painless, but those who lived their lives in dreams missed their chance at a more satisfying reality. Missed the opportunity to bring those dreams to life.

She sighed. Was she wrong in hoping he might look at the world instead of retreating to safety? _Perhaps I should just leave him alone, or comfortably tolerate him like everyone else does._ Focus on herself, the way Deshanna told her to, and live selfishly. She could try as much as she liked with him and never find even footing.

“You doing okay, Bright Eyes?” Varric asked. “You haven't said a word since the waystation.”

“Oh,” she swallowed. “Yes, I’m mostly… fine.” Her eyes moved to where Solas walked with Iron Bull, an unusual choice, given how much the two bickered. He’d said something about her expending too much energy with the Red Templars, and should rest with Varric at the rear where they’d be less likely to be attacked first. The gesture was gallant, she supposed, but she didn’t know if it was one of apology or simple logic.

“Yeah?” Varric raised a brow. “Cause Chuckles looks a little like somebody hit him upside the head with a bedpan.”

Eirwen frowned, a bedpan was a urinary receptacle used for sick patients. “Why would I... with a bedpan?”

“You know that look you get when something utterly wrong’s happened but you’re too stunned to know what it means? Hit upside by a bedpan.” Varric paused. “Probably not full of piss though, you’re not Sera.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I didn’t hit him.”

“Oh, you hit him,” Varric said. “Maybe with your words, but that look’s all you. You’re the only one in the entire Inquisition who can send Solas walking off like the world’s crashed in on his head. He’s the one usually asking the rest of us to think.” He chuckled. “Maker’s Breath, Bright Eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened in six syllables or less.”

She raised a brow. “You’re exaggerating, Varric.”

“Granted I do tend spin my yarns beyond the realms of belief,” Varric replied. “Not this time though. Whatever he did, you should consider letting him out of the proverbial dog house.”

Crossing her arms, Eirwen glanced at him.

Varric held up his hands. “Just so he’ll stop sending those sad puppy glances, I don’t think my heart can take it.”

Her eyes moved to the back of his head, his stiff shoulders, all pointed in a singular direction. “Solas is all icy distance.”

“Sure, when you’re looking,” Varric said. “He’s looking you when you’re not looking at him. Chuckles usually acts like he has all the answers, but whatever you did knocked him off his game. He’s been silent and confused since that fight with the Reds. He’s not even arguing with Iron Bull, and you know how he gets about the qunari.”

“I’m not angry with him,” she said.

“Really?”

She sighed. “I just want an apology where he considers my feelings. I don’t want to hear how he hurt me, Varric. I don’t want to be the subject of his self-flagellation.”

Varric nodded. “I get it, you want him to apologize to you and not at you.”

“I’m not even sure I want that,” she said. “I’d just like him to think from someone else’s perspective.”

Varric chuckled. “Show a little humility, maybe?”

“Take his own advice,” she replied. “All the wisdom in the world means nothing if we choose not to live by it.”

“You two are so alike sometimes it makes my head hurt,” Varric said. “And you? You’re what? Twenty-two? You’d need so much life experience in such a short time to act the way you do and actually believe it. I swear there’s barely a righteous bone in your body. Maker’s breath, you put both the Seeker and Merril to shame, and don’t get me started on Sebastian.”

“I don’t believe my faith makes me better than anyone else, Varric,” she said. “It’s a code I hold myself to.”

“Yeah, that’s it, Bright Eyes. That’s what gets him. You being so you messes with his head,” Varric said. “Solas sees religion as an institution and philosophy as a way to be right. Nine times out of ten, a conversation with someone he disagrees with begins in moral absolutes. You should hear him and the Madame go at it.”

“I suppose,” she sighed. “Everyone is trying to live the best way they know how, or can in their circumstances. We can’t blame someone for their ignorance when they were never given the opportunity to learn.”

“You never did strike me as one of those ‘kill all the shemlen’ Dalish, Bright Eyes,” Varric said.

“No,” she laughed. “I try to live by what I say, Varric. I don’t always succeed, but I try.”

Varric smiled. “I may not one for Chantry sermons, Bright Eyes, but I can appreciate faith when I see it.”

Her eyes returned to her hands, the faint bloodstains on her leathers, before her eyes rose to study the road ahead. She imagined Bull and Solas had grown closer, or walked more slowly. High sun overhead warmed her shoulders, but not uncomfortably. Seagulls screamed as they drifted above the water. Despite how they’d begun, the day was peaceful. She hoped they’d reach the next waystation in the town of Caleden without incident. “Solas says the words, but I’m not sure he believes them. He might have once, but not now. Now, they’re platitudes. The questions he asks, it’s like he’s trying to figure himself out.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know how I feel.”

“I can’t say I do either, Bright Eyes,” Varric said.

“Maybe it’s just better if he and I don’t…” she trailed off.

“Don’t what?” Varric asked with a grin, nudging her with his elbow. “C’mon, you know you want to say it.”

Eirwen sighed, pushing her bangs back off her forehead. “I mean, it’s not like it’d be possible, or a good idea.”

Varric laughed. “Relationships shouldn’t be based in self-deception, that it?”

She blushed. “None of them, friendships included.”

“True, that’s the only way to get any kind of equality,” Varric said. “I think I get it though. You don’t want to be right, you just want Chuckles’ to see the wisdom of others matters too. I’ll give you credit, Bright Eyes. You think big.”

“I don’t want to fix him, Varric,” she said.

“I didn’t think you did,” Varric replied. “Now that you mention it, I guess Chuckles is pretty battered. His interest in the dwarven empire doesn’t make much more sense, though.”

Eirwen sighed. “I don’t believe he’s broken, and even if he is, only Solas can heal himself. He’s probably nowhere near ready to try.” Her eyes fell to the road, then turned to the grassy hill leading down to the long stretch of sapphire blue water that was Lake Calenhad. “He just doesn’t… I want him to know he isn’t alone.” She sighed. “We don’t need to share experiences to have compassion.”

Varric sighed. “You know, I think, if you’d been Kirkwall we could’ve avoided a lot of drama.”

“Or, I’d have been made tranquil,” Eirwen said. “It’s difficult to know.”

“You care about Chuckles,” Varric said. “From personal experience, you should probably tell him how you feel. And, hey who knows? Maybe you two crazy kids could make it work, you’re esoteric enough.”

“I figured you’d tell me it was a bad idea,” she laughed.

He laughed and gave the crossbow in his hands a gentle pat. “I’m not really the best person to tell you what is and isn’t a great idea in regards to romance.”

“All romances are bad ideas,” Eirwen said.

“Maybe, but love’s the greatest gift we get, Bright Eyes,” Varric said. “You shouldn’t throw it away just because you’re scared of getting hurt.”

Eirwen glanced at him, smiling ruefully. “Sometimes, we’re so alike you make my head ache.”

He laughed. “Come now, I just like throwing words back into people’s faces. The best way to show someone their hypocrisy is with an ironic echo.”

Eirwen shook her head. “Too true, Varric.”

“That’s why I like you, Bright Eyes. You’re a walking talking book of parables making art out of wordplay.”

She giggled. “I’ll take the compliment.”

"You should," Varric replied. "I don't give them out often."

Shaking her head, Eirwen kept walking. Her steps though grew a little lighter, just a little less burdened. Talking to Varric always did that, she thought. He had a way of easing burdens, an insight of his own into people that she'd come to appreciate. She liked how he often saw what she didn't, or didn't want to admit to herself. "I suppose I haven't wanted to think about my attractions," she said at last. "I don't have a lot of experience in that area."

"You know the best part about new beginnings, Bright Eyes?" Varric asked. "You get to make new mistakes, and those mistakes are the best part of the relationship." His eyes fell to his crossbow. "Its the mistakes you miss most when there's no chance at more."

Reaching out, Eirwen gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Thanks, Varric."

  


The hours Solas walked in silence with Bull left him irritable. He’d resolved to avoid another fight regardless of what the Ben Hassrath said, if only so he regain his former skill at holding his damnable tongue. He did not particularly care about the Iron Bull’s opinion of him, but found he’d no desire to irk Eirwen further. Incessant infighting could not be good for group morale, and — though unlikely — it was possible he’d been too harsh in the past. Acted in accordance with his own desires when it came to voicing his opinions than considering how his words might affect teamwork with the others. The Qunari were a blight against all he stood for, a cultural structure against every moral, every instinct, every virtue he valued. However, he never truly sought to understand why the Iron Bull feared and despised the Tal Vashoth. That may be — though in all probability was not — the reason why his attempts to convince the Iron Bull failed. He glanced at the qunari walking to his right, slightly ahead of him. Perhaps, he thought.

Quietly, Solas drew his hood over his head and resisted the urge to cast yet another glance over his shoulder. He would not look at Eirwen again, watchful for signs as to her current state. Even when he did, he could not be entirely certain what he was looking for. The thought filled him with...

_Fear._

_Fear? What could I possibly be frightened of?_

_Loss. You're lonely and heartsick, just like Ellana. I don't know where your home was, but I know it's gone. In a way, I’m glad you're frightened. It means you care about losing what you've found._

He withheld a sigh, he could not fail again. Yet, what might it mean if this world was not so far gone as he’d originally imagined? If the banal’rasan and those within it were not banalvhen at all then he’d be wrong twice over. His mistake with Corypheus cost him the orb, and nearly cost him control over the Veil. The trouble lay his unwillingness to be patient. His recklessness, his rashness… he’d become so, so _shemlen._

As the thought struck him, Dirthamen’s old nickname from the practice yards eons ago rang in his ears. _There you go again, Shem’Harel. Always too eager, always too quick. Tell me, what virtue is there in hurrying to death?_

His teeth ground, Solas wished to recall neither the voice nor the name spoken at over and over again at swordpoint by the Bear King’s followers. Their laughter like a blade twisting in his soul, his heart clenched with the fear their taunts might yet prove true.

 _You care about losing what you’ve found._ Eirwen’s voice drowned out Dirthamen’s laughter. He remembered the softness of her hand on his cheek, though she’d not touched him then. Her statement served as gentle acknowledgement of a truth he realized now to be correct. He was frightened to again lose what he’d found. Found? What had he found? Comfort? Companionship? Friendship? Or something else? _We’re all looking for somewhere we belong, Solas._

Solas sighed, drawing back his hood just enough so he might catch a glimpse of her as she walked with Varric. See the easy smile and the way her hand rose to cover her mouth when she laughed. The warmth in her eyes, the good humor filling her entire expression. He wished, suddenly, to again be in such company. Walk together as they had in the mountains, in almost careless and easy conversation. He remembered the breathless sensation of those lips on his within the Fade, the quiet contentment as the world about him melted away. Recalled the silent yearning to seize upon those desires in his waking moments. His mouth tightened, and his gaze returned to the road ahead. He knew where he belonged, and it was not here.

“Hey Solas.”

He glanced up to find the Iron Bull watching him, the qunari’s expression appeared contemplative. “Yes, Iron Bull?”

Iron Bull shifted uncomfortably, his weight moving from one foot and then to the other. His steps became an awkward shuffle as he walked. “You going to apologize to Pip?”

Solas blinked, he’d expected many questions certainly but not that. “I…” he paused, there was little point in denying it, “I intend to. Whether she chooses to accept my apology is another question entirely.”

“Huh,” Bull grunted. “Can’t say I was expecting honesty. Figured you’d clam up. Tell me to mind my own business.”

“There is little point in hiding if you already know,” Solas said tiredly. “Though I confess I do not understand where these questions originate from, nor their purpose.”

Bull sighed. “You mean besides the fact you’re obviously miserable?”

“I may be downcast, but I am certainly not miserable,” he snapped, the words were out again before he could stop himself. One, he hadn’t meant to confirm Bull’s suspicion. Two, he’d managed to equivocate within his own sentence. “I apologize, Iron Bull. You are correct, I am out of sorts.”

“You know what, Solas? You two really just need to own up to that mutual attraction and bone,” Iron Bull said. “Then you’ll go back to berating me about the Qun, and me? I’ll be happier.”

“The first is easier said than done,” he replied evenly. “Secondly…” he paused, “you enjoy our debates?”

“They’re better than whatever’s going on now,” Iron Bull replied. “Besides, they do get me thinking and I like that, especially when you don’t enjoy my answers. Like Pip says, doesn’t matter what we decide but we should think on it first.”

Solas stared at him. _There may be hope for you after all,_ hovered on the tip of his tongue. “I see, I too enjoy matching wits with you, Iron Bull.”

Iron Bull laughed. “Yeah, don’t strain yourself too hard.”

A small smile tweaked his mouth. “I am merely pleased you’ve achieved some albeit small enlightenment from our discussions.”

Iron Bull chuckled. “Now, that’s the Solas I want to hear from.”

Solas shook his head. “I confess I do not understand you, Iron Bull.”

“I know,” Bull replied. “As for the other thing, I’d say admitting you want in Pip’s pants is a good first step.”

He blushed, drawing his hood over his eyes. “You will not tell her?”

“Nah, that’s your business. Though it’s obvious to everyone except her, and maybe Ela,” Bull said. “Gotta admit. That’s a nice little blind spot, Pip’s got. Lots of guys in the Inquisition flirt with her, you know.”

“I do,” he said, managing to keep his voice steady and edge free.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Bull added.

Solas glanced at him, frowning.

“Far as I can tell, she’s only interested in you,” Iron Bull said.

Solas was not sure he wanted that reassurance, it certainly did not help the emotions broiling inside him. Or the fact he was engaging in a conversation with the Iron Bull one could only call polite, perhaps even friendly. He knew Eirwen to be the cause, he wanted to… prove he could. Such a desire was strange, as she never suggested he could not. “Eirwen has her own reservations.”

He did not quite know how to broach the subject of Ellana Lavellan with the Iron Bull; in part because he did not care when it came to whatever relationship the qunari had with her. Besides, a few brief sparks and the undeniable connection created by the Anchor, he had no romantic interest. Still, he suspected Ellana possessed a fascination with him. She was certainly why Eirwen remained reserved.

“Ela, huh?” Bull sighed. “Sure, that makes sense.”

Solas glanced at him. “I believed her to be in a relationship with you.”

“Well, it’s... complicated,” Bull said. “Casual, really.”

“Ah, yes,” Solas nodded. “Relationships are always complicated, but casual only becomes so after one develops feelings.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Bull scratched the back of his head. “I just don’t get the Dalish, Solas. They’re… weird.”

“I suspect you’d receive better answers from Eirwen in regards to Dalish behavior,” Solas replied, surprising himself. “She grew up with the Inquisitor, and they are her people.”

“Ela’s a little sensitive about Pip,” Bull said. “Something about her being Dirthda’din’an, and how she can’t leave the clan but has to for some elgashiral. I just figured she was like you at first, not wanting me to infect her with any ideas about the Qun.”

“As a mage, I doubt Eirwen would have much interest in converting.”

“Exactly,” Bull replied. “That’s why it’s weird.”

“Ellana seems to have a great many insecurities,” Solas offered. “Among the Dalish, the mages are their leaders.”

Bull grunted. “Explains Pip.”

“The Inquisitor is young, and from her own admission she was not highly placed among the hunters,” Solas said, wondering if Ellana said what she did in confidence. However, he would rather she shift her attention from him. “Eirwen was training to be the next Keeper, she writes in at least three languages and speaks more.”

“Been teaching her qunlat,” Bull said.

Solas glanced at him, and attempted to pretend such an admission was expected.

Iron Bull shrugged. “Just a little, here and there. I was bored with the Chargers on missions, and she wanted to learn.”

Blinking, Solas did not know whether to be impressed by Eirwen’s initiative. He continued, “in these circumstances, with the whole of the world riding on her shoulders, it is natural Ellana might be insecure.”

“Silly to compare herself,” Bull said. “Ellana’s quick, but she’s a Tallis. Pip is… well, she’d be Sarebaas, but right now she’s a lot closer to a Tamassran. Two different roles with two very different reasons for existing.”

“If Ellana is a Tallis, she must find leadership difficult,” Solas said mildly.

Bull exhaled heavily. “It’d be impossible, a Tallis could never compete with a Tamassran or a Sten.”

“Yet Ellana succeeds at her new role with the help of others, and Eirwen, who is perhaps better suited to lead, assists her without judgement. The same is true of Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen. They create a support structure through which the Inquisitor might learn and further grow into herself, all working together to save this world from the threat posed by Corypheus.”

“Yeah, but it’s still less efficient than if…” Iron Bull paused, and glanced at him. “I take it back, Solas.”

Solas blinked. “Take what back?”

“You should stop spending time with Pip,” Iron Bull said flatly.

He glanced at him, surprised.

“She’s made you better at arguing your point, and I don’t think I like it.”

Solas snorted. The chuckle grew in his throat until he could no longer contain it and he burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed as some dam inside himself broke. Laughed until he wished to cry, laughed until he did, and then laughed more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "six syllables or less" comment comes from my friend Eithe about Eirwen's relationship with Solas, and her ability to rapidly knock him off his game. I'm a sucker for writing men complaining about their relationships. It's one of my favorites and I get to do it all the time in this story. Solas gets character development. Oh, Solas.


	11. Chapter 11

_The town of Caleden, at dusk,_

It took three days to reach the town of Caleden; which overlooked the south side of the River Bran, where its mouth opened on Lake Calenhad and nestled at the base of the rolling hills leading into Gherlan’s Pass.

They arrived without incident and were promptly redirected to the White Gull company’s second platoon headquarters on the edge of town. There they were introduced to First Sergeant Rodrick Laverne, who was pulling dual shift of handling the duty rosters while keeping watch for returning patrols. _First_ — the inclusion of first before speaking his name and title was vital — Sergeant Laverne was quite put out he’d received no missives nor messages that members of the Inner Circle — no matter how unimportant a qunari mercenary and scruffy, unwashed elven apostate might be — were arriving. He proved less pleased upon the discovery they’d brought the famous author, Master Tethras of _Hard In Hightown_ fame and the Herald of Andraste’s blood kin, for he’d no time to prepare a proper welcome. Roderick Laverne was the second son of a second son in a half-forgotten Orlesian house and only a single bloodline off Antivan merchant. Regardless of status, however, procedure remained all important. He regretfully informed the Mistress Lavellan and Master Tethras specifically they’d not yet secured Bann Balrion’s summer estate, where the largest cluster of demons in the area ran rampant after the breach. It remained overrun, with none of the townsfolk and in fact few soldiers of the Inqusition daring to travel close. It was gratifying, he said upon taking hold of the elven maid’s hands, they’d arrived before dusk as the demons swarmed the roads by nightfall.

Caleden was not the largest town on the eastern bank of Lake Calenhad, but it was the last before Gherlen’s Pass. Well, the last human settlement before the lowland hills. Few lived between Caleden and Orzimmar except surface dwarves and Tal Vashoth. Some of Rodrick’s men swore up and down to have seen wild elves wandering the rolling hills and mountainous forests. Those forests and hills ensured the pass dastardly dangerous to travel when venturing overland to the gates of Orzammar, though that did not stop most merchants traveling up from Redcliffe. The fishermen of Caleden took their boats out on the lake and sometimes up the River Bran when the trout traveled in the fall. Their main product had been the wheat fields before the sky opened, the demons came, and the undead rose. There had never been much, but during a full harvest they shipped their excess north on the lake to the Circle Tower for extra coin. Two hundred souls once lived inside their wooden walls. After the Veil tore open, only some hundred remained with more dead by the day.

Sergeant Rodrick explained, of course, that the majority of Inquisition troops were quartered with the families of grateful villagers or in the homes of the dead. With many commanding officers dead, all the surviving members of White Gull could do was hold back the tide. With no troops sent east from the Bannorn as King Alistair promised, they’d prevailed upon many of the surviving young men and women to join the militia and round out their ranks. The Inquisition’s newly promoted platoon commander and lieutenants, such as there were, stationed at the Red Gull in the center of town. He’d sent a runner on ahead to have Innkeeper Brom prepare their squad rooms. He was quite grateful for their arrival, even if they were passing through on their way somewhere more _important_ and _necessary_ to the cause.

Before Eirwen had time to listen to anymore of Rodrick’s woes, Solas and Varric hustled her from his tent. Though not before he’d managed to shove another (on top of the one they’d received from the last waystation) leather bag of coin into her hands. Iron Bull remained behind to engage in small talk with his massive girth blocking the tent's entrance. Out of them all, he spoke the language of polite military conversation best.

“I don’t understand why they keep giving me these,” Eirwen said, turning over the small moneybag in her fingers.

“Perhaps they are merely paying tribute,” Solas replied, his voice even and mild but without the edge to suggest underlying anger. He’d been oddly gentle the past few days, though they still hadn’t had a moment to discuss their fight. “I suggest you keep it.”

“It’s just the human way of saying hello, Bright Eyes,” Varric added.

She glanced from one amused face to the other and rolled her eyes. “I know what coin is for, Varric. I did travel from Wycome to Haven.”

“You two went all that way and yet Ellana never figured it out,” Varric chuckled. “She’s still not clear on the difference between a copper, a silver, and a gold.”

Solas laughed. “You must admit, Varric, there is one point on which she is correct. Some pieces are shinier than the others.”

“If only shininess were the primary virtue in determining their value,” Varric said with a shake of his head.

Eirwen glanced down to Solas’ hand lightly holding her elbow, then to Varric on her left, and back over her shoulder to where Iron Bull now exited the Sergeant’s tent. They’d gone several paces into town, and yet neither had let go. “Do they expect me to pay the innkeeper?” She swallowed, resolved. “I will anyway. Humans run their economies on this…” she jingled the purse, “Rodrick might be offended, but nothing is free.”

“True enough,” Varric nodded. “I forget how strange our bartering systems must be to you, Bright Eyes. I remember Merril had trouble with it too, kept giving everything Hawke, Aveline, and I gave her away.”

“I find myself curious about the system used by the Dalish,” Solas said suddenly. “I’ve never seen anyone so confused by such a simple concept as currency.”

Eirwen’s eyes jumped to him, shocked. Her voice froze in her throat, and her body tensed. She only just managed to keep her jaw shut, rather than letting it fall slackjawed. _You’re interested in what?_ Whenever he asked questions regarding her people, they were almost always in direct relation to her and how she differed from his past experiences. General questions were out, or if they were raised almost always negative in some way. He wasn’t interested and quick to say all other elves were not his people.

“Oh the Dalish don’t use money, Chuckles, or have a currency,” Varric laughed. “They’re a communal society. Single individuals have only a few possessions of their own like clothes and their weapons, and then share most everything else.”

“It’s a bit more complicated that that,” she managed. “We believe there is personal property and Clan property, however when one has much it’s important to give to others in need. One must care for their equipment, but their aravel may be needed to house others. Our relics belong to everyone, and any Clan member may request to carry or use them.”

Solas made a noise in his throat, soft and almost approving. “Knowledge is not hidden then?”

“No,” Eirwen said. “Any may request the Keeper and her apprentices train them in our secret histories. It often is by those who wish to become lore speakers and spinners or after the last vestige of youth has fled our hunters. Sahnan generally instructs those interested in reading or writing in our ancient tongue.” She paused, glancing with interest at the wooden homes and thatched roofs. The hollowed out eyes of the humans as they passed in threadbare shirts with mud caked to their worn boots. Those must be the villagers, she decided. The Inquisition troops seemed better fed and hopeful, though on some of them their armor appeared mismatched. “However, the training is rigorous and few without the magical skill have the time to advance.” She sighed. “It would be nice if they paid more attention.”

“Instead of practicing their trickshots to win the heart of their maidens fair?” Varric asked. “The maidens and the gentlemen, I suppose. They’d prefer to impress rather than read.”

“You might be surprised then how successfully a poem whispered by a gentle tongue woos an elven maid’s heart,” Solas said. “There are more wants in this world to attract the lonely eye, a few clever shots will inevitably fall far short of the mark.”

Varric laughed. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic, Chuckles.”

Solas smiled. “I have some small experience in the area.”

Eirwen swallowed, and reminded herself they were speaking in general. No reason at all to feel embarrassed, or imagine Solas whispering elven love poems in her ear. Biting her lower lip, Eirwen captured the butterflies in her stomach. Maybe she’d dream about it. “Both are practiced in the Clan,” she said. “Nerys likes to collect pamphlets on love poetry, and scrawl her versions in the margins. Fenlas found Krell’s keen eye marvelous. He declared his intent to marry on the spot.”

“Did he?” Varric asked.

“It took a few years, but yes,” she said. “They adopted a little girl whose parents were merchants killed by bandits not long before I left. She’d be about six now.”

“You got a lover back home, Bright Eyes?” Varric asked.

“No,” she laughed.

“I figured as much. Besides, no elven guy or girl who stayed instead of following you across the Narrow Sea is worth keeping.”

Eirwen glanced at Varric, aware they’d grown closer to a large building just off the central square. From the way humans constructed their towns, she suspected this was the inn. “I suppose,” she ventured. “I never gave it much thought.”

Solas cleared his throat. “Perhaps that is for the best.”

 _I’m going to get whiplash,_ she thought, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Her heart squeezed in her throat. _I am completely lost._ “Why do you ask?” There was an obvious, natural progression to this conversation but it couldn’t possibly…

“I’m just thinking. If we’re going to keep traveling in places with people, we should come up with a system.”

“I thought we had a system,” Eirwen said.

“No, not that one. A different system,” Varric said. “One to keep every eligible bachelor, and some less than eligible, in a five mile radius from descending on us like a locust swarm. Hawke and I used to pull this when Fenris wasn’t available or couldn’t. Sometimes, Isabella stepped in or Sebastian helped out. It kept Hawke sane.”

“I’m not a hero like Hawke,” Eirwen said.

“Not yet,” Varric said. “Hawke didn’t start out a hero either, but like you she had that talent smell on her. Drew the eye, drew the people. No one could say no to her, and nobody forgot her either. Not even magic powers and that staff of hers were enough to drive suitors off. I don’t think even she knows how much work Carver and Rabbit did to beat away the locals while they still lived in Lowtown.”

“Varric may indeed be correct,” Solas said. “Such a method would be an acceptable means of ending trouble before it began.”

She glanced from one to the other. Neither of them could be serious, this sounded like a plot straight out of _Swords & Shields_. “You can’t be suggesting that I… I… I pretend to be in a relationship.”

“Think of it this way, Bright Eyes. We get to the tavern and they’ll try to split us up,” Varric said. “This way one of us always stays with you.”

Eirwen paused. “There is a certain logic in that.”

Varric let go of her elbow, and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Exactly.”

“Who do you plan to play my fictional lover, Varric?” she asked. “You?”

“No, no,” Varric laughed. “I don’t think I’d be the right choice, the best lies are always hidden inside a truth.”

Inside a truth, Eirwen echoed. Had Varric just admitted to being a little in love with his best friend? She smiled. “So, Iron Bull is out.”

“You two just don’t have that kind of chemistry,” Varric said with one of his sly grins. “To run a con, we've got to be convincing.”

She glanced at Solas, he was the only remaining possibility. _He’d never go for it._ The thought left her vaguely unhappy. That was for the best, she reminded herself. If they went through with it, she’d never hear the end of it from Ellana. _I'm supposed to be helping her with Solas._ Ellana’s relationship with the Iron Bull was the subject of more conversation than whatever might be fomenting between Solas and herself.  _I thought she didn't like Bull._

“I would be willing to take part in this pretense,” Solas said.

Eirwen’s head whipped about, her eyes widening. “You wouldn’t!”

He smiled, his eyes glinting with a mischief she’d glimpsed before but only rarely and in fleeting moments. There and gone before he lost himself again in solemnity. “I see no reason why we should not make an attempt, especially when pretending ensures the safety of all involved.”

“Solas,” she began.

“Do you object?” he asked.

“No, but—”

“We are in agreement then.”

Eirwen stared at him, mouth agape. She knew she looked a bit like a landed fish, but found she couldn’t keep her composure. Words failed her.  _Pretend_ to be in a relationship. _Ellana is going to murder me._ Worse, she had no clear idea of what pretending to be in a relationship looked like. He knew she’d next to no experience. _How is it different from a regular relationship?_ “There will be discussions,” she said at last, taking a moment to prod his arm with her finger.

“Certainly,” he agreed, looping his arm through hers.

Her eyes narrowed, where was his embarrassment? He should be offended, stiff, annoyed at others inserting themselves into his business and demanding privacy. He was taking this far too well. “There will be ground rules.”

He bowed his head. “Ma nuvenin.”

Eirwen paused, for a moment she saw the shy wandering woodsman vanish only to be replaced by something… someone else. Whoever he’d been before, she decided, when he wasn’t who he was now. Loose rather than restrained, almost relaxed. Amused, even. Amused by her horror if she went by his expression. _He..._ her eyes caught on the light dancing in his stormy gray-blue eyes, _he’s teasing me._

“You are staring, lethallan,” Solas said. “Should you fail to recover your composure, we shall not convince anyone.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chuckles,” Varric said. “You’ll convince everyone. All we need to do is say the relationship is new.”

Solas laughed. “So I am to play the part of the annoyed, protective lover irritated when his territory is invaded.”

“Exactly right,” Varric said. “The best way to drive off a potential rival is to do what you’re good at. Give ‘em a threatening ‘I’ll eat your dreams’ stare when they stick around too long, and if they don’t take the hint lash them with some condescending wit.”

“Who is going to inform these men of my ability to curse them with nightmares for the rest of their natural lives?” Solas asked.

“That’d be me,” Varric replied.

“Excellent,” Solas said. “It would be far less impressive were I to threaten them, a third party is far more convincing.”

“I agree. Suggestion is both more frightening and gives the mind room to imagine.”

Eirwen groaned. “I’m never having conversations with men ever again.”

“Yes, but consider the fun we shall have fooling the humans,” Solas said. “You will always have aid should it become necessary to divest yourself of uncomfortable conversations.”

“I’m sure I had that before,” she replied. “I think you’re going along with this because you like to tease me.”

“Enfenim var vhenan him’sa?” he murmured, too low for Varric to hear. _Afraid our hearts will become one?_

She blushed. “Tel’enfenim, Solas. Tel’enfenim mala harel.” _I am not afraid, Solas. I am not afraid of your tricks._

He chuckled, and his arm cinched hers a little tighter. “Lath sulevin, lath araval ena.” _Be certain in need and the path will emerge._

She blinked, those were lyrics from a Dalish song. “When did you learn ‘Suledin’?”

“I did not say I had,” he replied smoothly. “Do you wish me to carry you across the threshold?”

Eirwen glanced up, realizing they’d reached the Red Gull’s entrance. It stood far taller than her with the doors open and cast in the warm orange glow of candlelight. A raucous, bawdy song filled the air, she’d been so distracted by him she missed it. “That’s a human tradition, and only regarding marriage.” Her eyes returned to him. With his brows raised and a slight smile curving his mouth, he looked incredibly smug. “You knew that.”

He inclined his head.

Her eyes widened. “You’re trying to bait me into telling you Dalish courting traditions!”

“I am expressing interest in your culture as requested,” Solas said, his smile widening. “I said nothing of courting.”

“You...” her mouth worked, “you smug, you… dirthera ma, harellan!” She shook her head. “Fen’Harel ma ghilana.”

“Hmm,” he chuckled. “It may be so.”

She glared at him. “Be offended.”

“I am afraid I cannot in regards to you,” he said, his eyes playful. “You do not offend me, Eirwen Lavellan.”

Her cheeks, she realized, were very red. _I must be betraying every inch of my attraction to him._ Worse, he was somehow even more attractive than before. Better at wordplay than she imagined. She certainly couldn’t compete. She must retreat, remain aloof, and change the subject. “I see now what Ellana meant about your flirting.”

“Will you forgive me?” he asked.

Eirwen’s eyes widened. The tension flooded from her, and she relaxed against him. Her cheek rested on his shoulder. “Of course,” she sighed. “I appreciate you trying, Solas. Trying is what matters. I’ll try too.”

His chin rested on her head. “You should not, you were correct.”

“Talking to you is sometimes like traveling a Tevinter battlefield where the Qunari sowed their gatlock into the soil and are waiting for the first sparks of a fireball,” she said. “Half the time, I feel I’m walking blind. I don’t know enough about you to know where I’m going, but I do know I don’t want to contort myself to be recognized as a person. I’m a Dalish elf, Solas. Anywhere outside my people, I start as less than half an individual or am seen as a superior snob by those in the cities. I want to be me.”

“I… I’ve not been fair to you,” he said. “You are not a representative to bear the burden of my mistakes. I was hasty, and I did not consider what I said. In the future, I shall attempt to listen.”

A small smile tweaked her mouth. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his cheek. “Serannas, Solas.”

She thought for a moment she saw shock on his face. It passed quickly, before returning to his usual calm if slightly condescending expression. His eyes softened, a warm smile curving his lips. His free hand half rose, before falling back to his side. Relief etched into the lines across his forehead and around his mouth. He appeared old, sometimes, but she’d never taken a moment to appreciate the genuine timelessness of him or the way he rotated seamlessly between hahren and foolish youth. Sometimes, he was old and others he was young as his face took on the appropriate age rather than locked into a single one.

“If you two lovebirds don’t get a move on, Iron Bull will catch up with you!” Varric called. “When that happens, there won’t be any good rooms left!”

“I’m doubt we'll get to choose our rooms,” Eirwen replied, slipping free of Solas. “I’m sure everyone could use a rest though, and food!”

 

Solas watched Eirwen walk away, her long, even strides carrying her toward the inn’s entrance. For the first time since waking from his long sleep, he found himself without a plan. Caught up in the moment, he’d agreed to Varric’s mad suggestion. He simply could not find the strength within himself to stop. She grew so flustered for one whose inner center often remained smooth. Teasing him in her own way, rather than attempting to compete on his terms. He looked forward to watching her learn this new intricate dance as she applied her voracious mind to the task. Inevitably, she would return from the shadows and rise to meet him in battle.

 _Look forward to?_ He’d hoped for nothing in this world before, yet now… now he anticipated. In her company, his sorrow fled. He was not content to retreat, to look on and watch over her from a distance. He interacted, rather than recused. He’d no reason to do so, yet he did not act as his mind bid him. As grief insisted. As duty demanded. Must now held little meaning.

He’d no desire to be the lonely wolf howling for the moon, nor the moon who chased the sun across her sky. He longed instead to be the night sky itself, wrapping the moon in silent embrace. Eirwen was like the halla of memory, spirit and elf with their flesh perverted by Ghilnan’nain. Innocent and wise, and in great pain. Yet the halla had also been fierce. Dastardly quick in the woods, dangerous in battle, they abandoned Ghilnan’nain in the rebellions. Turned upon her monsters and drove them from settlements under Andruil’s threat. In this banalthen’alas, they lived on. Watched over those they called brothers and whom called themselves the People still. They too were a vague shadow of themselves.

Their people were not the same. Eirwen was not a wolf as he was. She was not like him, but she eased his loneliness and he eased hers. When she smiled, he forget the concept called time.

_This is cruel to her._

The world could not be real, yet it was. In this world, she would grow old and die.

His heart twisted.

Her life had begun to matter, sparks lit to fill the void inside his chest. They caught fire in his emptiness, burning away his guilt. He could not allow it, and he was powerless to stop flames as they engulfed him. Though he walked the din’anshiral, he found himself admitting there might be a future.

He shook his head.

There was no future for him, there was no future for her. None with her, yet also none without.

He did not wish to think of it, rather he wished for this moment to extend unending.

She’d surprised him yet again, he realized. She admitted to not knowing who he was, she did not know him and did not pretend to. She did not stop at the surface he presented, but sought to reach into the waters. Her warm eyes searched as she tethered his secrets into the pattern of his soul.

Dangerous yes, but exciting also.

He should kill her and remove distraction, yet found the idea repugnant.

There were many who never questioned, who never looked past the beginnings in search of the truth. The way she spoke of the Evanuris cooled his rage. She unknowingly teased him with a curse from her people when he frustrated her.

_You tell tales, Trickster/Traitor. The Dread Wolf misleads you/me._

From her lips those words came with no rancor, she called him out for his teasing. Done so harshly in an attempt to distract him. Strangely, he had not denied it as he ought to. It amused him that she recognized him, even obliquely. They were not the same curses Ellana shouted at her enemies. He found them flattering, especially in their dual meaning.

 _Enfenim var vhenan him’sa?_ he had whispered. _Afraid our hearts will become one?_

Words he might have spoken were this Arlathan, he a careless youth and she dreaming a maiden in Mythal’s keeping. Words murmured by many a young elf to his heart’s desire when they teased and tempted their way into their would be lover’s beds.

 _The Dread Wolf take you!_ That was what Ellana yelled.

Solas dragged his fingers up his forehead, watching as Eirwen and Varric disappeared inside the inn. The Dread Wolf he’d been stirred inside his chest, guiltless and shameless still. _If Eirwen is not careful, the Dread Wolf will take her. I fear he is in no mood to return that which he steals._ He sighed, it was easier to ascribe the qualities to another self and the choice remained that of a coward. He could not be dishonest, she deserved far better. Yet, his selfish heart would not stop reaching. His desires a cup overflowing.

_Fen’Harel ma halam!_

His lips quirked.

Perhaps, he wanted what he wanted. There was no helping it.

_Tel’enfenim, Solas. Tel’enfenim mala harel._

_You are not afraid of my tricks?_ He smiled. _Excellent. I’d prefer you excited by them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I just gave up, we're going with all the fun romantic tropes. Also, lol Solas. Yes! "Pretend" to be in a relationship. I see you. All the flirting, all the fun. So, here's Solas. He gets character development, then he apologizes with a real apology. Miracle!
> 
> Thanks everyone who has been leaving comments and kudos! I really appreciate them! Hearing what you think and enjoy about my story is pretty much the best thing. Thanks for taking the time!


	12. Chapter 12

The Red Gull was a traditional inn and tavern. The largest building in town, it was one of the few blessed with a stone foundation. At three storeys tall, the inn towered above the other shops in the town’s center. The Red Gull had been the former Bann’s summer residence before he finishing his masterpiece, Castle Caledan, and the building was still something of a palace. The new estate stood to the east, beyond the wheat fields, and nestled neatly at the base of the foothills. The current Bann Balrion was notoriously private. Preferring to remain on his estates in solitude, sometimes without his servants. The town converted the old one into an inn after the old lord’s death, so his son’s retinue would have a place to stay when he banished them from his secluded palace.

Innkeeper Brom worked as a caretaker, though a large portion of the inn’s funds returned to the lord’s coffers. The Inquisition’s runners were quick, and by the time Eirwen, Varric, Iron Bull, and Solas arrived he’d already prepared a pair of rooms for them on the second floor. The room he’d assigned to the Herald’s blood kin was not the largest, but the old lord’s favored. It stood next to the stairs with easy entrance in and out, and, given the raucous noise of villagers and soldiers cavorting at odd hours, few preferred to stay there. The old lord had liked to step from his room and immediately overlook his men dining in the hall below. The White Gull’s Inquisition platoon commander was a lesser son from the South Reach, he preferred his quiet in the more suitable chambers on the third floor. His men followed his example. That left many nice rooms available on the first floor, both former guestrooms and converted sitting rooms.

These days, the tavern’s guests moved about at all hours. More and more of the population arrived during the night to drink away their sorrows while the dead wandered through the fields. Shutting their ears to the dreadful moans that scratched, and tore, and howled at the gates. With the Inquisition garrisoned around Caleden, the demons had not seen fit to come inside the town proper. Or, they had not yet. Upon seeing Eirwen was Dalish, Brom mentioned in passing a tale about another Dalish mage who inscribed wards into the stones at the old town limits and soothed an ancient hunger in the forest. That had been in the ancient days before the Chantry took an interest in their side of Lake Calenhad. Eirwen had not missed the hopeful glint in his shadowed eyes. The hunger lived again, Brom said, prowling between the trees and no soul in Caleden slept peacefully.

She hurried up the steps, the large brass key in hand.

“The innkeeper seemed rather surprised to discover you’d a paramour,” Solas said. “Perhaps he is unused to seeing elves together. Outside the Alienages, it appears common for them to pair off with humans.”

She sighed, glad Varric and Iron Bull had gone on ahead. After entering the inn, Solas had returned to his previous self. Their quiet moment forgotten. The pleased, playful teasing undercurrent returned to his tone. The snide, not quite passive aggressive arrogance too. There was one difference, however. He’d become far more willing to engage in small talk. “Many humans find elves attractive.”

“He seemed glad, however, to give his largest second floor room to a qunari. Perhaps, the Kaden Fen and other Tal Vashoth mercenaries were once a welcome sight in these lands.”

Quickly, Eirwen opened the door to their room. “Solas,” she turned to face him. “How exactly are we supposed to pretend?”

His lips curled into one of his mysterious smiles. “How do you envision this pretense playing out, lethallan? I am willing to listen to suggestions and receive direction.” He leaned forward, one hand catching on the doorframe. “As you said, we must lay down some ground rules.”

Phrases like that on his lips sounded incredibly wrong, Eirwen decided. She pressed her back against the door as her hand located the knob, and she slid into the room. Away from him into their room. Their room, he’d follow her into their room. _Their, them, together,_ her mind spun with the idea of _us_. Her heart pounded at the thought of her dreams mixing with reality. With a single breath, she quieted her mind. _I am not frightened. I’m…_ her breath caught in her throat, _excited._ She lifted her chin. “I don’t know yet, but probably not that different from our usual relationship. Varric said all good lies come from a truth.”

Solas raised a brow as he followed, slipping the pack off his shoulder. He closed the door behind them. That small, sly, almost predatory smile still tucked into the corner of his mouth.

Eirwen turned around. “Varric’s right,” she continued. “If we try too hard then the lie goes beyond what people will believe. Besides, truth is easier to remember.”

Solas closed the door behind them, and secured the lock. His pack fell to the floor with a soft thump. “Yet should we not try at all, the ploy would hardly be enjoyable.”

She paused, teeth sinking into her lower lip. He’d admitted to they didn’t need to try, maybe that was his version of offering her an out. “True,” she agreed. “We ought to have some fun.” Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the ornate dresser, the large windows with heavy burgundy curtains. A bear’s head rug lay spread across the floor, eyes glassy and mouth open. Her eyes moved to the divider on the room’s left side. A dressing and bathing area, she decided. The innkeeper mentioned he’d sent up water for a bath, so the tub must be on the other side. For the moment, she’d ignore the fact they’d only one bed. “We should start by establishing what we’re comfortable with.”

His heat warmed her back as his hands settled on her hips, chin resting on her head. A position not too dissimilar to ones they’d been in before. “Is this position uncomfortable?” he asked.

She wondered if Solas truly enjoyed comfortable distance after all, or perhaps she’d gotten it wrong. After her father passed, her mother had been too wrapped up in her grief for touching. Iseth never… Iseth didn’t believe in physical contact. Always one for strict discipline and restrained distance, she believed emotions were temptations. A leader must be even handed, fair, and available to all. Deshanna’s children, Dirthara and Suledin had been her friends but they were both older. Deshanna herself too wrapped up in the care of the Clan, while the seconds and thirds and fourths all cared for the other apprentices. All of whom had families of their own. Deshanna believed caring for a child would help soften Iseth’s rigid temperament. _Unfortunately,_ Eirwen thought, _caring for me only made her worse._

“Eirwen?” Solas’ voice brought her back.

She smiled, her hands taking hold of his and bringing them to meet at the center of her stomach. “Comfortable enough for me to get lost in thought, but this is better.”

“Hmm,” he murmured. He leaned forward, arms securing around her. “You are correct,” his voice warmed in her ear, “this _is_ better.”

An excited shiver passed up her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. A pleasant sort of chill, she enjoyed the sensation and the butterflies spinning about in her stomach. She raised her head, slyly glancing up at him. “Will we be one of those couples who are ridiculously open?” she asked. “Like the overwrought courting rituals of Orlesian nobles?”

He snorted. “Do you see yourself as a maid blushing while I deliver heartfelt soliloquies at your feet?”

“No,” she laughed. “Human courtship is very silly. All courtship is, really. It’s probably best we be practical and do what we normally do.”

He chuckled. “I dare say a few might believe us then.”

She nodded, a quiet, disappointed knot tying in her gut. Lying on top of the aravel with Suledin during the summer solstice at sixteen was the closest she’d ever come to romance, all while the clan sang, danced, paired off, and made love below. Perhaps when he kissed her at the Arlathvhen, but he’d met his marriage partner by then and prepared to leave for Clan Virlath. The kiss a goodbye, the space between them filled with all the emotions left unspoken.

There had been Dathim visiting from Clan Vaghilasa when she was nineteen, she supposed. He pursued her long after she’d told him to stop. Before she had a chance to act on plans to further discourage him, a murder of crows drove him off a cliff. Yes, she remembered, when she’d gone on her solitary, yearly pilgrimage to Falon’din’s shrine in the Wolf’s Teeth. He chased after her, intent on forcing the conversation. On the cliff below, she’d seen him. He called out, but before he could reach her the birds appeared in a swirl of black. They darted, ducked, dodged, and pecked at him like he was an intruder in their territory. They followed his falling body into the gully, and feasted on his eyes.

Uthellin, her betrothed from Clan Teluthen sent her messages perhaps once a year. His clan wandered in the Silent Plains on the eastern side of the Hundred Pillars and into Nevarra. They’d never met, never sought each other out, not even at the Arlathvhen. He probably dreaded the day his father might call on the agreement settled not long after they were born, and sent him west into an unknown land.

She’d seen romance, of course. Dirthara with her lover Saena on the sunlit rocks in summer, swimming naked in the Minanter River. Saw the gifts Dirthara left at Saena’s aravel before dawn, and helped her compose poetry in elven. Poetry Dirthara then carved carefully into stone. Or fetched chapters of _Hard In Hightown_ from a traveling peddler whose pages she tirelessly sewed together into a complete manuscript. Saena loved to read, one of the few hunters that did, and she loved Varric Tethras’ works.

“Again, you are drifting,” Solas said. “The day was long, and we have walked many miles. There is hardly shame in admitting to exhaustion.”

Her hands rested on Solas’, wistful. “I was wondering about romance in Arlathan.”

He paused, almost tensed. “Oh?”

“Among the Dalish, we give gifts or trophies to someone we’re fond of,” she added hurriedly. “If interested, they reciprocate and courtship begins.”

“Ah,” he laughed softly, “the mysteries of Dalish romance revealed at last.”

Giving his hand a light swat, she slipped free from his hold and spun about to face him. “Oh, that is only the first.” She grinned. “I hadn’t gotten to the part about flowers, moonlight, and fields.”

“I see,” he smiled. “I suppose there is much to wonder about, considering what has been lost to the past.”

“Well,” she tapped her lower lip. “I wonder if they had celebrations to Sylaise similar to ours. They’re held at midsummer, when we all get drunk on sun-spirits and everyone sleeps with whomever’s near at hand.”

Solas’ eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. The smile froze on his mouth, a small frown creasing his forehead. His fingers flexed at his sides.

Eirwen paused. She’d wanted to get him back for the crack about Dalish courtship rituals. _Perhaps I went too far._ The humor between them was occasionally hit or miss. _Best to move on._ “Now, I’ve got an important question. How are you with nudity?”

He blinked. “Fine,” caution caught in his voice. “Why?”

Eirwen knew she might not be particularly experienced in the act of lovemaking or courtship, but she’d been well trained in the arts of distraction. She continued innocently, “well, I wanted a chance to wash off the grime from the last few days.” Her fingers tugged at her shirt. “Besides, we should change clothes before we get sick. Brom mentioned a laundress in town, we might be able to send the dirty ones out tomorrow.”

He cleared his throat and looked away. “Of course, both requests are reasonable. The human preference for modesty is quite serious, they may have provided… towels.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she said. “You aren’t Dalish, and elves from the cities are often taken aback by our ways.”

His stormy gray-blue eyes returned to her. “I am not an elf from the cities.”

Eirwen smiled. “No,” she agreed, “you’re even more of a mystery.”

Mouth curling into another mysteriously smug smirk, he waved a hand. “Take your bath, Eirwen.”

Lips pursing, Eirwen backed away. Only after she turned around, did she let her heart squeeze in her chest. Somehow, he was handsomer when that false humility of his turned imperious. Whenever that particular attitude reared its head, she wanted to tackle it. Remind him he needed to earn the right to tell her what to do.

She walked to the divider, unbuckling her leathers as she went. She shucked her gauntlets, away went the gorget, set aside the pauldrons, and then off came the harness. Carefully, she rested them on the floor. She went to work on her leg pieces, removed the thigh protectors and shinguards. She unhooked the leather protecting the tops of her feet. Rubbing the back of her neck, she stepped behind the divider and stripped off her shirt. She tossed it aside, sliding out of her loose pants, yanking off her breastband, then at last her underwear.

The bath stood in the center of the small room created by the divider, next to a full size mirror. It was very nice, Eirwen decided. The old Bann had gone with brass instead of wood. _Only the best to suit the nobility,_ she thought wryly, dipping her fingers into the water. Without an active fire to keep it warm, she wasn’t surprised to find it cold. Her lashes fluttered closed, she let her magic pass through her fingers. Heat surged. She withdrew her hand when the water grew comfortably warm and steam rose into the air. Her lips curled into a smile. A long soak in a warm bath was one of the few human luxuries she’d come to love.

“My kingdom for a hot spring,” she murmured, slipping into the water. Eyes closing, she slid beneath the surface as the comforting warmth sloshed about her body. The heat sank into her skin, soothing her worn muscles. She broke the surface, pushing her fingers through her wet bangs. “Creators, I feel alive again.”

“I believe you asked of elvhen courtship in ancient times,” Solas’ amused voice floated over the divider, “would this be an appropriate time to discuss it? Or, shall I leave you to your thoughts?”

She sank a little into the water, her heartbeat quickening. “Now?” Aware of the plaintive note in her voice, a blush flooded her cheeks. Her tongue slicked her upper lip, and she repressed her sudden desire to slide back beneath the water.

He laughed. “It need not be.”

“I…” she paused. “Does it have to do with bathing?”

“Perhaps.”

She reached for the soap, glad it wasn’t the perfumed garbage out of Orlais. Fereldan preferred simplicity, and she appreciated it. Slowly, she coated her arm and began to scrub away the dirt. A mad thought slipped between her other thoughts, an inviting and far too forward invitation. _No, I’ve never… and we are pretending._ “Does this courtship method involve you…” she trailed off, unsure how to phrase her question, “in here?”

“I… would be willing, should you wish to experience similar events first hand,” he replied. “However, it is merely a memory I happened across once in the Fade.”

Eirwen swallowed. _Remember, Ellana,_ she whispered. _Remember, Ellana._ Face flaming, she ducked under the water. She hung there, knees exposed to the cold. Cheeks bloated as air escaped into small bubbles from her nose. The water rippled across her skin. Comforting and warm, the heat swirled inside her.

_Maybe it’s just better if he and I don’t…_

_Don’t what?_ Varric’s voice rang in her head. _C’mon, you know you want to say it._

Oh, she wanted to. Desperately. The words eager to break through her lips.

_I mean, it’s not like it’d be possible, or a good idea._

In the bath, a braver her, a bolder her might try to seduce him. Ellana certainly would, if she were here. She’d take the offer, let him stride in, content with whatever happened as result.

_Relationships shouldn’t be based in self-deception, that it?_

Her heart pounded. That was right, it shouldn’t. Could they pretend to be in a relationship when she wanted to be in one? What if… what if he didn’t? And all the teasing was just that? The pretense a pretense only? His behavior said maybe, but who knew? _What do I say?_ she wondered. _I don’t think I’ve ever… I’ve never… never been more attracted to anyone. In my whole life, I never really wanted to know what it felt like._ And what did she really know about him anyway? Maybe she was only attracted to the mystery. _How am I supposed to know?_

A pair of warm, callused hands grasped her shoulders.

Her eyes opened, and she saw a pair of worried blues staring back at her.

Then, he lifted her up out of the water.

Her head broke the surface as she coughed, wiping water from her eyes.

Gently, his fingers smoothed her hair off her forehead.

Clearing her eyes, Eirwen offered him a shaky smile. “Is this how it went in your story?”

“You did not respond when I called,” he said, voice gentle, possibly stern, but still his cheeks were faintly red. “Given the way you have been drifting, I worried. I thought, perhaps, you fell asleep.”

“I was thinking,” she replied.

“Ah,” he frowned and sighed heavily. “I apologize, I know that in regards to these sorts of interactions you are very innocent. I should not have teased you.”

Eirwen rolled over, aware he was here and she was very naked. From his expression though, nakedness was the least of her worries. “I’m not that innocent.” Her wet fingers brushed his cheek. “I enjoy you teasing me, Solas.”

“Hrmm,” he cleared his throat. “As do I.”

She smiled, watching his eyes roam everywhere except down. “Solas,” her hand caught his cheek, “you’ve already seen what there is to see.”

His gaze fell to hers. “Your friendship is important to me, _you_ are more important than any other… interests I might have. It has been a long time. I feel I am, in some ways, starting over. That will lead to mistakes.”

Quietly, she rolled all the way over and onto her knees. Resting against the side of the tub, she traced her thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m the last person to judge you for your mistakes. Honestly, I’m about as lost.”

“That is also an issue,” he murmured. “You are very young and I am… not.”

“I get to decide who I fall in love with,” she said, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “You…” she knew she had to finish, “you can’t control someone else’s feelings, Solas. You just decide if you reciprocate.”

A small smile curved his mouth, eyes warm as he stroked her hair. “You are such a mystery, Eirwen Lavellan,” he said. “I cannot explain how wondrous you are, and how strange.”

She leaned forward, sloshing in the water. Resting her elbow on the bath lip and her chin on her palm, she grinned. “That may be the worst confession I’ve ever heard.”

He sighed. “There is much you do not know.”

Eirwen rolled her eyes. “So? What you know about me could fill a thimble.”

“Eirwen,” he sighed.

Reaching out, she seized hold of his ear.

Solas inhaled sharply.

More out of indignation that pain, Eirwen decided. She leaned forward until they were eye to eye. “I’ll bet you don’t know the names of my parents.”

His brows rose.

“Do you know who my best friend is? Do you know what age I became First? Or where in the Marches Clan Lavellan roams? Who we have treaties with or what we’re famous for? Did you know we’re famous among the other Dalish clans? Do you know which towns I have human friends in? My feelings on cats? Do you know which magical schools I prefer? Or what my specialities are? No,” she told him. “I never told you, and you never asked.”

His lips twisted in an amused smile. “You are correct, I did not. There is much we might learn about each other.”

“ _From_ each other,” she said. “Relationships begin in mutual admiration and respect.”

“I’ve yet to understand how one so young can be so wise,” he said. “Will you release me now? I fear I may be losing feeling.”

With a sigh, Eirwen let him go.

He straightened, rubbing his fingers on his ear. “There is a Dalish saying, is there not? You must take the Dread Wolf by the ear when he comes?”

She frowned. “There is, why?”

“I’d not thought,” he chuckled, “perhaps the expression was not meant… I did not expect it to be literal; for your people to grab ears.”

She frowned. “Dirthara says enthusiasm, honesty, good communication, and humor can get us through the uncomfortable moments in a relationship. Sometimes, it’s necessary to do the unexpected.”

He stroked her hair, his hand curving down her cheek. His eyes softened. “I do not I wish to pretend,” he murmured. “I would rather let the others believe so, as to them truth or fiction will make little difference.”

Her head tilted. Was he saying what she thought?

“There are many in this world I would enjoy fooling, but not you. I want you to understand my intentions, Eirwen.”

Eirwen leaned forward, hesitant. Her eyes on his mouth. “Then…” she trailed off.

“Then,” he agreed, his fingers curving her chin as he leaned forward.

Their mouths met, lips brushing against each other. Soft at first, then his hand cupped the back of her head and drew her further from the water. His mouth moved insistently. Her lips parted, breathless. His tongue slid into her mouth, free hand running down her throat. Her arms wrapped about his neck. He traced across her lower lip as a soft moan escaped her.

Grinning, his thumb swiped water across her collarbone.

Laughing, she bit his lower lip.

He groaned. “Eirwen.”

“The tub?” she asked.

“Mmm,” he sighed. “The issue is not merely with the tub.”

“There are too many issues,” she murmured against his mouth. “I reject them.”

He laughed.

Eirwen straightened, her arms tight about his neck. She leanead back, studying him. “Enfenim var vhenan him’sa?”

“If you are not careful, I will take you to bed,” Solas said, one hand running down her back. “Then our hearts truly will become one.”

“Mala nadas, mir enasalin,” she said. _Your inevitability, my victory._

His mouth tugged sideways. “Do not declare victory so soon, ma nadas. You are not yet certain of what you have won.”

She tilted her head. “A chance to finish my bath?”

Solas shook his head, but it did not hide his grin. His hand dipped into the water. “I suppose you should,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “However, I will remind you of my promise.”

“Promise?” she echoed, that tone signaled the beginnings of trouble.

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a wicked light. “You asked for a tale about Arlathan courtship…” he trailed off, fingers stirring the water, “and baths.”

Her eyes widened, the heat rising about her. Her heart quickened. “Solas.”

He sent a small wave cresting across her chest, then a wet finger tapped her nose. “Relax, and I will tell you.”

She rolled her eyes, settling into the water.

“When journeying in the Fade, I once happened upon a memory of a pool where an elven maid enjoyed bathing,” he murmured. “It was in the heights of the world, far from what is now considered civilization. In the days of Arlathan, such remote locations were common. The ancient elves built their homes in the secret places of this world.”

Eirwen’s lashes fluttered, the water rose and dipped about her body as his voice drifted in her ears. “Mmm.” The water vibrated, heat shivering on her skin. “Solas.”

“There was a male who enjoyed hunting in the forests near her pool, he was neither young nor old as age held little meaning,” his voice surrounded her, “in a timeless age he ran with wolves and their spirits, chasing the elk and the deer. These were the days before the birth of the halla, and in the age before beauty.”

“The age before beauty?” she managed.

His lips brushed her forehead.

“ _Solas,_ ” Eirwen groaned.

His chuckle reverberated in her ear.

Strange images swirled around her in steam, she almost thought she saw something. Pleasure shivering on her skin, she felt his magic twining about her through the water. It bubbled along the surface, catching on her shoulders and arms. More than just magic, she thought. Like a… the sensation like she’d been surrounded by him, by his presence.

“One day, the male elf happened upon the maiden as she was bathing. He was struck, for he’d little interest in the world of floating cities, the great golden spires, nor twining crystal. Little interest in those who named themselves the People. Yet, in shadows of the trees, he stood transfixed. Mesmerized as the maid relaxed in warm waters beneath the sun.”

Eirwen relaxed in the waters. Her eyelids grew heavy, her back resting against the sloping metal. “What did he do?”

Solas stroked her temple. “In the days of Arlathan, it was common to leave a piece of yourself behind where others might see it.”

“A piece of yourself,” the echo caught in her throat. “That seems a little sad.”

He laughed. “We give up bits of ourselves often to others, do we not? Those we travel with, and those we love. We simply do not see visible evidence.”

“Still,” she sighed.

“It is not as you imagine, in those days such pieces often found their way home. Their connection to new life allowed... the ancients to gain an understanding of those who were new and different. After the maid returned to her dwelling, the male went to the pool and left a few particles of himself so she might know others wandered the area.”

“Did they return?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “They did not, and neither did she. Months passed, he returned to the pool several times yet on each journey he discovered nothing. Year after year, he wandered the wilds. Stopping every so often at the pool to see if the elven maid returned. Finally, he determined the next visit to be his last and arrived at the pool under a full moon. There he discovered stardust floating on the waters.”

Eirwen smiled up at him. “This story has a happy ending.”

Solas tilted his head, wiping beads of water off her brow. A faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps.”

She frowned. “Solas…”

“Hush,” his thumb trailed of her lips. “Would you enjoy my interruptions during your stories?”

“Is that a promise I get to tell you mine?”

He chuckled. “What the male discovered upon those waters were pieces of her spirit, left behind with a question.” His fingers stroked her hair. “You see when a youth of elvhenan found a pursuit for their heart, they offered a token. A piece of themselves they valued, that might be interwoven with the spirit of their lover. Much as a noblewoman of Orlais might offer a lock of hair or handkerchief to a chevalier. Should the lover reciprocate, they lay the pieces against their heart and left behind a piece of themselves in secret places for the other to find. To the male elf, such traditions were unknown to him. He unwittingly made an offer, one he did not understand.”

She sighed. “He didn’t reciprocate.”

“He did not,” Solas murmured. “For him, there proved to be far more interesting pleasures in the world.”

Studying him, Eirwen took in the thoughtful expression. The faint frown on his forehead, the contemplative look in his blue-gray eyes. He simultaneously watched her, and went past her. His mind caught in the memory. “I hope they both found happiness,” she said at last. “Serannas, for the story.”

“You may wish to leave the waters before your skin wrinkles,” he replied, climbing to his feet. “I will see if the Innkeeper provided us anything in regards to a meal.”

Eirwen smiled, watching him disappear around the divider. It was only after he left that her eyes fell to the water. The steam cleared, and she saw little motes of green and silver light floating on the surface. When she extended her hand, they gathered together into a small ball on her palm. Motes of spirit, she realized. A bemused smile curved her lips, a blush on her cheeks. Gently, she lay the token against her chest. It sank into her skin, disappearing like a rock falling through the surface of the pond.

Her eyelids fluttered shut. She paused in the silence, listening to the soft thudding of her heart. Warmth gathered about her, even as the waters cooled. Her hand lay on her mouth, her spirit and magic swirling about her center. A new sensation twining through her body.

_I do not want you to mistake my intentions._

No, Eirwen thought. She didn’t want to mistake them either. There was so much about him she didn’t know, but warm pulse about her heart answered some of those questions. She was not alone with her feelings, with how much she wanted him. His loneliness echoed to her, his yearning. Cut off, he wanted to feel. Wanted to feel secure in the contentment of connection. Wanted that with her. _He doesn’t know how to say it._ That made sense, she thought. Spirits spoke with emotions and not words. _Words aren’t enough to convey…_ her fingers curled on her breast, _this._

Sighing, she went about the business of taking her bath and scrubbing off the last remaining grime. Then, she climbed from the tub. Collecting the strange, short robe the Innkeeper left out for her and a towel, she walked past the divider. A quick glance around the room told her Solas was gone.

Settling on the bed, Eirwen ran her fingers over her lips. They buzzed from his kiss. _Ellana is going to kill me,_ she thought. Then, again, she supposed it wasn’t any of Ellana’s business. _Ellana will get over it._ She flopped onto her back. _We can’t always have everything we want._ There were some parts of herself she didn’t want to share or give up. Ma nadas, he’d called her. My inevitability? My obligation? My… must? Must be. _Ar lath nadas,_ she thought. It translated to either ‘my inevitable love’, or ‘my obligated love’ or perhaps just simply meant ‘I must love you’. _Not quite romantic,_ and yet nothing about Solas was ever _quite_ romantic.

“All romances are bad ideas,” she whispered to the ceiling. “It’s just like Iseth said, the ones you love always leave.”

 _Maybe, but love’s the greatest gift we get, Bright Eyes,_ Varric’s voice replied. _You shouldn’t throw it away just because you’re scared of getting hurt._

Her eyes closed.

Live selfishly, Deshanna told her. Live without fear of tomorrow.

_You will find your purpose if you are brave._

Her heart pounded in her chest.

_There will always be a thousand causes in this world to die for, da’len. The People would not have gone on had they given in to darkness and despair. If you wish to win, you must live._

“Suledin,” she whispered. “Suledin in enasalin.”

_Iseth taught you all the reasons for which you must die, but tell me: do you have anything worth living for?_

Eirwen wished she knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter absolutely did not go the way I expected, I'll admit. However, I think it went _better._ Lol at Solas, and his stories. I hope you guys enjoyed that one. Good on them for sorting out some of their relationship. Ha... he left her a token. Then, Eirwen has sads. Poor bab.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed it! Thank you for all the comments and the kudos. Hearing your thoughts and what you're enjoying always gives me silly grins. Yay! Feedback!


	13. Chapter 13

Inside a pavilion on a hill overlooking the city Lydes, Ellana reclined on her chaise. They’d barely made it as far as Halamshiral before the missives of several Marquis arrived informing them of a change in meeting date. This was proving to be the way of the Orlesian nobles, and even some of those in Fereldan. Safeguarded in their cities and fled from their estates, they reverted to what Josephine referred to as ‘power games.’ Nobles were creatures she simply didn’t understand. They blew hot and cold, tried to yank her about like she was some beast on a chain. Vivienne had taken their cancellations in stride, like she expected it. 

Listening to Josephine read off the letters, Ellana realized she missed Eirwen. 

Eirwen always knew what to do. Eirwen could figure out this so-called Great Game the Orlesians played. Whenever Ellana got frustrated with the endless correspondence, unsubtle digs, and false flattery, it was Eirwen who reminded her games must be learned before they could be won.  _ The cold stone halls are their forests, Ellana. The games they play are at heart no different than the power shuffling between the craftsmaster and hearth mistress, between Saeva and the Keeper of Cairns. Power and influence are languages spoken by many different tongues. The only ones who can teach you this game are those who know how to play. _

Ellana sighed, that logic was why she’d brought Vivienne along with Josephine, Dorian, and Cassandra. Outside of Leliana, no one understood the Orlesian game like Vivienne. It was possible Vivienne played it better. She had more at stake and thus more to lose.  

_ You cannot make up for a lifetime of experience, so use those of others. Once you know their rules, lethallan, they’ll be yours to break. _

Ellana sighed, pushing her fingers through her hair. Loose strands fell free from her long braid, hanging about her cheeks. Her alabaster skin paler than usual. She always had difficulty finding a tan in the warmer climates of the Marches, but here in Orlais all the color faded from her skin. She’d grown too severe with snow white skin and raven black hair. She’d no wish to be made into a doll for the amusement of the pompous Orlesian fools.

_ You could try thinking for yourself, _ Solas had said.  _ You might learn your own way of leading. _

She wanted to take his advice, but her way would definitely cause at least twenty-three ‘diplomatic incidents’ as Josephine called them. Those always took far more time to clean up than whatever incident that began them. The blame usually lay with her loose lips and temper.  _ How do I make moves when every move is wrong? _

The worst part might’ve been knowing Eirwen wouldn’t judge her.

_ Why is Eirwen perfect? _

Eirwen would be the shoulder she could cry on then help her fix her mistakes. Like she always did. Eirwen who would tell her,  _ worry less about what I think, focus on the people who need you. _

_ Creators, Eirwen  _ **_is_ ** _ perfect. _

Ellana sighed, glancing around the room. Dorian and Vivienne lay on the couches across from her in similar positions, sniping at each other. Josephine had taken up a position near the back of the tent at a makeshift desk as she sorted through recent correspondence. Cassandra sat near the door on a bench, cleaning her armor. Cole stood at the tent flap, staring out into the night.

Ellana preferred pavilions to staying indoors on some noble’s estate. They reminded her of home and the yurts Clan Vaghilasa set up on the plains for the Arlathvhen. Her companions usually didn’t mind, but Solas and Blackwall were both used to roughing it. Dorian was the only one who ever complained about hard rocks under his bedroll, soft skin, and Tevinter sensibilities. She’d expected the Madame to share those opinions, but so far she hadn’t heard a peep. Instead, she’d opened up to Vivienne about her love life.

“My dear if what you want is the unwashed apostate then you must tell him,” Vivienne said. “The elf certainly has the brains between his ears and the wit to recognize your feelings, but he will not move unless given a good, hard shove.”

“Much as it pains me to admit, Vivienne may be correct,” Dorian said. “Solas might recognize your feelings, but determining his interests is akin to scouring Fereldan books for properly composed poetry. The poems may exist, but is it truly worth the effort to find them?”

“I’ve never wanted for partners before,” Ellana said, flopping into the pillows. “I still don’t now. Bull is very accommodating.”

“That sentence must finish with a but,” Dorian said. “You could do better than the qunari brute.”

“Of course she could, dear, and better than Solas too,” Vivienne laughed. “Our Ellana is the Chosen of Andraste, the world lain before her feet. Any man or woman would be lucky. Leave the fool to your clever clanmate, darling.”

Ellana swallowed. Vivienne had a rapier wit and impeccable aim, she struck all her insecurities with even strokes. “I’m not sure I want to leave him to her though.” 

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Josephine,” Dorian said. “Anything to add?”

Setting aside her letter, Josephine smiled sweetly. “You know my feelings on this subject, I believe any interest in each other to be their business.”

“You are all sweetness and light, Lady Josephine,” Dorian replied, his voice droll.

Josephine lifted a brow, but her expression remained otherwise smooth. “You would not wish another prying into your affairs, Dorian. I doubt Solas will appreciate your nose in his.”

“It would depend on the nature of the gossip,” Dorian said. “However, I take your point.”

She glanced at Ellana, her eyes slightly warmer. “I do agree with Madame de Fer, Inquisitor. Should you wish a relationship, a hard shove will be required.”

“A hard shove,” Ellana sighed. “How do I do that when I don’t know how to flirt with him at all?” Her head flopped back on the pillows. “Our conversations are always stilted, and one way. Eirwen makes talking to him look so easy.”

“My dear, you will get nowhere in life comparing yourself to others,” Vivienne said. “To achieve your vision, whatever it may be, you must reach out, seize hold, and never let go.”

Ellana lay her hand over her eyes, peering through her fingers at the lacey canvas ceiling. “You go on about how I’m the Chosen One. The truth is if anything happens to Eirwen, Dirthara will cut me open and string my entrails between the trees.”

“That’s a very… specific threat,” Dorian said. “Dirthara is your tanassan, yes?”

“Yes, Eirwen is very special to our Clan and Dirthara in particular,” Ellana said. “I can’t let her get her heart broken.”

“I feel there is a side of this conversation we’re missing,” Vivienne said. “Do you wish to steal the apostate’s heart because you want it or to steal him from your friend?”

Ellana sighed gustily. “Both.”

Vivienne gave her a long look. “Darling, you cannot protect others from their feelings.”

“Yes, but if he falls for me then whatever’s between them will be over before it begins,” Ellana said. “She’ll complete her elgar’shiral and go home like she should. We’ll stop Corypheus as we should, and everything will return to normal.”

“Hmm,” Vivienne sighed. “There is a small flaw in your plan.”

Ellana rubbed her forehead. “Is it because I’m not a mage?”

“No, my dear, after this nothing shall ever be normal,” Vivienne said. “Regardless of what occurs before Corypheus finally falls, the balance of power will shift. The world cannot be as it was. That is why we must take the rudder and set the future on a proper course.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ellana replied. “I’m just stuck trying to figure out what he likes.”

“He liked it when she took him by the ear.”

They all glanced to where Cole stood by the tent flap, even Cassandra glanced up from cleaning her armor. He continued staring out into the darkness, his hands loose at his sides.

“Who did?” Ellana asked.

“Solas,” Cole’s bland, almost emotionless voice floated across the tent. “He likes her because she’s quiet inside. Her hurt doesn’t shout. If you didn’t look, you wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know, and neither do you. The pain runs into the core her being, all the way down in a tightly twisted knot, but then it crystallizes, smooths out, and… it’s gone. They caged her with her power because it frightened them, tried to trap her in the dark. The memory could destroy her, but it doesn’t. She uses her hurt to help, so others can see what they didn’t before.”

Ellana sat up. “Why didn’t you say anything, Cole?”

Cole glanced over his shoulder, face mostly hidden by his droopy hat. “She says others hurt more, and I should help the ones who hurt the most.”

“And we respect her privacy,” Cassandra said, her voice cutting. “If Eirwen wishes to tell us of what hurt she has suffered she will do so. It is not our place to judge.”

“Yes,” Cole nodded.

Frowning, Ellana rested her forearms on her knees. She never knew quite what to make of Cole. He was so… unnatural. She shouldn’t be disconcerted by him, she knew. Her people had encounters with spirits all the time. He wasn’t the first to take a body. The rage spirits possessed trees and became sylvans, and some of Clan Lavellan knew how to find the ancient creatures inhabiting the forest for aid. She doubted either Dorian or Vivienne had spent hours attempting to converse with a babbling brook in order to receive direction, but Irasael often did.  _ That’s Sa’assan and not me. _ Eirwen and not her. Eirwen knew how to talk to spirits. Eirwen knew how to talk to Cole, and how to talk to Solas. 

_ I wish I’d listened more whenever some of the Elva and Telva came down from the mountains to spend time with the People. I wish I’d listened to their stories about the Sylva, and how they vanished. The Sylvhen lived in this part of the world. We’re supposed to be descended from them. _ She wished as she’d wished so many times since her memory disappeared. As always, wishing gained her nothing.  _ If Eirwen falls in love with Solas she may never ascend the mountain like she’s supposed to. I’ll lose my chance for once to know more about magic and our past than she does. That no one in our Clan does. _

Ellana’s eyes fell to the glimmering green light in her hand, pale beneath her skin. Now, it was almost invisible under the candles. The Anchor gave her pain, sometimes. She considered asking Solas about it. Out of them all, he seemed to know the most.

She didn’t really want to put Eirwen in her place. Well, not really. Eirwen was just so easy going, even tempered, and kept up the restrained distance wherever they went. Whether they were at home with the Clan or in the midst of the shemlen, life seemed the same for her. They were alone in the world, they should be banding together for protection, and Eirwen didn’t. They’d grown no closer on their travels. Ellana still couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

And Solas… he represented the serene elven life she’d always wanted. Living in the forest, comfortable in quiet solitude, safeguarding the secret wisdom that felt forever beyond her reach. Even with what he said about the Dalish, he was the sort of partner she could return home with and whom they’d be proud to have. Surprised by even.  _ That a powerful mage might love me. _

Eirwen would tell her that those were all the wrong reasons for wanting someone to love her. Ellana should try to see people as they were, not what she wished to get out of them or the image they created for others. No doubt that attitude was exactly what attracted Solas.

Ellana sighed. It wasn’t just the symbol and the status. No one ever said no if she wanted them, not even Kerith, Boradin, Kelwen, Evalon, or Virsa. They were all mages. They’d had an interest, maybe not a forever interest but an interest. Eirwen wasn’t, but she was Eirwen. When Eirwen responded to flirting, Ellana felt oddly guilty and a little stupid for making the attempt. For all her general mildness, Eirwen’s verbal uppercuts were incredible. She could cut the legs out from under anyone.

“What does Solas truly think of Eirwen, Cole?” Dorian asked slyly. “We know he tolerates her company, but he must dislike her in some way considering his feelings on Dalish superstition.”

“That is enough!”

They all glanced to Cassandra, watching her set aside her cuirass and leap to her feet.

“Do not answer Dorian, Cole,” Cassandra said. “As for you,” her sharp gaze swung to the rest of them and Ellana saw profound disappointment, “they are both our allies, risking their lives regularly to aid the Inquisition. Those are the only qualities that matter! There is little reason for us to be sitting about gossiping like schoolchildren.”

“You do take the fun out of life, Cassandra,” Dorian sighed. “I merely thought that since Solas likes spirits so much, a spirit might offer more insight into his state of mind.” 

Cole glanced from one stern face to the other. “He forgets when he’s with her. He forgets and he remembers.”

Dorian frowned. “What does he forget?”

“Who he should be,” Cole replied.

“And what does he remember?”

“Who he is,” Cole said.

“I think I’m left with more questions than when I started,” Dorian sighed. “Thank you though for that attempt at enlightenment.”

Cole smiled faintly. “You’re welcome, Dorian.”

Ellana leaned forward, her heart pounding. Her stomach knotted, nothing Cole said comforted. In fact, it worried. If anything, it confirmed her fears. That Solas did like Eirwen and tolerated her.

“You don’t need to make everything a competition,” Cole said. “He likes you too. You’re different, you’re clever and witty and you move too fast. You tug in all the right places, trying to be so much more than you were before. Why don’t you let the ones you love love you?” 

“I tug in all the right places?” Ellana asked, hiding a pleased smile behind her hand. Maybe Solas did just play hard to get. She caught Cassandra staring at her, her disapproval ominous. “You needn’t answer that, Cole.”

Dorian lay his hand on his knee. “As the Marquis cancelled so suddenly, I suggest meeting up with them on the Storm Coast after we’re finished here.”

Vivienne sighed. “Perhaps that would be best, western Fereldan remains a mess. I am certainly fit enough to escort dear Josephine to Val Royeaux to complete our business. Is that agreeable to you, Josephine dear?”

“I… yes, certainly, Madame Vivienne,” Josephine said.

“Then it’s settled,” Dorian said. “Unless you disagree, Ela?”

“No,” Ellana replied. “I think it might be good to surprise Eirwen.”

Cassandra sighed heavily. “If that is your will, Inquisitor.”

“You could find their party couldn’t you, Cole?” Dorian asked. “We might surprise them on the road.”

“I could find them now,” Cole said. “I will find you again.”

Ellana smiled. It was nice sometimes to have friends.

  
  


Solas suffered Brom’s apologies as he collected the dinners promised to Eirwen and himself. Though in a hurry, he remembered it was important to remain entirely polite in the face of obstacles. When Brom learned he too was a mage, the innkeeper quickly went on to share more regarding the ancient horror in the forest. The one now reawakened. Despite the silly superstitions layered in the telling, the story had some ring of truth. He could promise nothing, Solas reminded the man. However, he assured him he would discuss it with the others.

After managing to free himself, Solas realized he may have let the man run on too long. More surprisingly, he discovered himself hesitant to return to the room. Of course, his reticence revolved around Eirwen and the token he’d left in her bath. 

With one of the elvhen, he might have known immediately if she accepted or not. The elves of this world were closed off and difficult to read. They did not share the mental and spiritual openness of their immortal kin, barely heard the whispers of the Fade. Its song and poetry. In the old world, a single fingertip upon the soul was enough to leave a lifetime’s impression. Now, he constantly met with mind numbing silence.

He’d hoped he might sense her lay that small piece of himself beside her heart. Yet, he felt nothing. That uncertainty left him disappointed and confused. Irrationally so, for he knew the emotions to be based in his own fears. Eirwen was bright and intelligent. He’d no good reason to worry over rejection nor let those fears control him. The chance of her missing the meaning behind his story was slim, the likelihood being he’d given away too much. He certainly had gone further than he’d intended. 

Yet, his lips curled into a satisfied smile, he found himself vastly rewarded by the results. Her kisses in this world proved far more pleasurable than those shared in their dreams.

_ Slowly, _ he reminded himself. He must be patient, pay attention, and learn to read her wants. There was much she did not say, and what she said in regard to herself often misleading. Pain still twinged in his ear, and her questions regarding what he knew of her troubled him. Even upon consideration, he found no answers for them. He had not asked, and that left her past a mystery. Left knowledge of her interests or how her childhood affected her beyond his reach, all the explanations for how she’d become who she was hidden by shadow. The ways of her people were a mystery also. After his initial disappointment, he’d not taken a specific interest in their customs. They’d their own traditions, ones he could not follow if he did not know them. He did not know if she even wished to be courted by her people’s cultural rules. He might wish to in accordance with his own. Or, perhaps, some combination of the two. Engaging in romance left much uncertain, and even more unknown. Despite himself, he was excited by the prospect.

He hurried up the steps, aware of the lightness in his feet. Strangely, he felt warm and content; perhaps a bit apprehensive. Worried, he supposed, she might reject him. Foolishness to fear such a reaction, he thought. Pursuing her at all was foolishness itself. Should she decide not to take his ill-considered offer that would be to his benefit. The moments spent in her company left him further from the path he set for himself, from what must be. He could not be distracted.

Yet, she was not a distraction.

She was… something else.

He paused before the door, tray in hand. Wondering if he should knock.

_ If the others were to see me now, they would laugh, _ he thought, though he was not so irritable nor put out. He enjoyed the feeling. He supposed he had not… cared so much before.  _ The great Fen’Harel infatuated by a simple young elf, offering tokens of affection as if she were a lady of the highest spires. _ Those were not truly his thoughts, though the wry irony echoed. The pride inherent in them too. Perhaps if she were a lady of standing like the Inquisitor, his thoughts might say next. Someone important and therefore worthy of his affections, someone closer to one of his own people.

They were ugly thoughts, he decided as he took hold of the knob. Ugly, cruel, and, perhaps, unbecoming of the values he professed. They were not thoughts he might wish Eirwen to hear. Nor heard by others. Nor even pass his lips. To be seen with her in the hallowed halls of Arlathan, the thought might have left him cringing a few months ago. Now, he supposed he did not care. He might not particularly wish to be there either.

The door opened and he stepped inside.

His heart stopped.

Eirwen lay on the bed. She was dressed, though not in a manner he’d prefer. A soft, cotton robe covered most of her upper body, but was entirely too short. The fabric ended at mid thigh and exposing her legs the damp air. The robe wrapped tightly about her thin frame, exposing curves he’d not yet taken into account. His eyes wandered from her exposed clavicle to the curve of her breasts and down her legs, admiring. He doubted she meant to seduce him, though she excelled at doing so.  _ I must be careful, she’d do well should she ever decide to put in effort. _

He leaned back, letting the door close behind him.

Her head turned, lashes fluttering, eyelids opening to reveal her bright blue irises.

Breath catching in his throat, Solas swallowed. His token swirled in the facets of those beautiful eyes, silver and green sparks dancing and shimmering. He saw his emotions reflected there, and realized he could sense them. Fainter now than before, but present.

“The innkeeper seemed happy to provide us meals,” he said, ensuring his voice remained steady. He moved to the small table on the room’s left side, and set down the tray. “He refused my coin, however. I fear he wishes a different favor from us.”

Eirwen sat upright, tucking a damp bang behind her ear. Her hair went a slightly darker shade of red when wet. Her legs tucked underneath her. The robe shifted, opening to expose the shadow of her breasts. “He wants us to help the village with its spirit problem.”

His heart quickened, why had he never noticed her grace? The trained elegance in the way she moved. Hers was controlled, careful, thoughtful motion quietly taking up the least available space. Ellana sprawled, artless and casual. “Indeed.” His lips twitched. “You already intended to stay our plans in order to aid them.”

“There’s nothing on the Storm Coast except bandits, spiders, undead, darkspawn, and Red Templars. A few days to a week won’t do any harm.” She rubbed her hand along the back of her neck. “I’d planned to put it to a vote.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “If that vote failed, I suspect you’d stay behind.”

Eirwen sighed, sliding off the bed and onto her feet. “Iron Bull is terrified of demons, you know.”

“I do,” he agreed as she crossed the room to him. He’d no desire to spend the evening discussing the Iron Bull’s fears and how they left him more prone to possession. “Did you also consider eating before haring off on the next adventure?”

She smiled up at him, her eyes dancing. “Yes, Solas,” her head tilted, playful, “I was waiting for you.” 

His fingers brushed up her cheek. “I see,” his voice lowered. Why did he have such trouble keeping his eyes off her mouth? “I suppose it would be necessary, unless you ate what remained in our packs.”

Her index finger toyed with the wolf’s jaw bone hanging about his neck. “We ran out of rations at midday.”

“Mmm,” his voice distant in his ears. His hands fell to her waist, smooth cloth bunching between his fingers. “That is true, forgive my oversight.”

She rose on her toes.

He pulled her forward.

Her arms circled his neck, her small damp body pressed to his chest. 

His mouth covered hers, insatiable with a different sort of hunger. He discovered her lips answered him, entirely willing. All her hesitance from before gone. Her tongue and teeth stroked his lower lip before she sucked it into her mouth. He groaned, one hand catching on the table to steady himself. She wriggled closer, grinning like a fox who’d found her prey.

_ Go slowly, go slowly, go slowly. _

The words beat in time with his rapidly racing heart.

His mouth captured hers again. Settling himself against the table, hands moving over her robe. Cloth shifting over her stomach. The knot of the sash keeping her robe closed loosened, lifting slightly. Steadily, he slowed the pace of their kiss. Well aware of her hips grinding against his as his knee slid between her legs. He lifted one hand to cup her cheek, tongue slipping into her mouth. His thumb traced her cheek.

A soft whimper escaped her when he managed an excellent stroke, left hand sliding up the back of his head.

Solas grinned, he would enjoy discovering her sounds. Whether they proved to be soft satisfied sighs, passionate gasps, or nails scratching down his back as she cried out. She had once intimated she might be very willing to share her pleasure.

“Solas,” she murmured against his mouth, her voice high and breathy. “I…”

_ Go slowly, _ his mind urged.

He stroked her hair back off her forehead, taking in her flushed cheeks. They had all night, certainly tomorrow and the day after. There was no need to rush, yet he did not want to let her go. He rested his forehead against hers, watching her eyes open. He enjoyed the sight of her dilated pupils and hazy vision. He took a certain amount of pride in knowing himself to be the cause. “If we do not eat soon, ma nadas, the food shall grow cold.”

“Yes, yes,” her fingertip followed the curve of his jaw. “Food will restore sense.”

He smirked.

“Ma nadas?” she echoed. “Such a strange endearment.”

“Did you not believe your victory inevitable?” he teased. “There is an inevitability for all, perhaps you are mine.”

Gently, she kissed his lower lip. “Only if one believes in fate and destiny.”

His arms encircled her waist, ignoring the way her robe had begun to come undone. “I see now I must expend more effort befuddling that wondrous mind of yours.”

She frowned, a tiny crease appearing on her brow.

His mouth drifted to her ear. “We must search, I think, to discover your romantic streak.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “If you hear Ellana tell it, there’s not a single one anywhere in my body.”

He rested his cheek against hers, fingers trailing down her back. “I am not particularly interested in the Inquisitor’s opinions on this subject.”

“I suppose, I haven’t spent much time looking for my more romantic side,” she said, studying him slyly through her lashes. “I may require help.”

He laughed. “I would be more than willing to assist.”

Her brows rose, and she smiled one of her tricky, playful smiles. “Perhaps, I will let you.”

_ There is a trickster in you, vhenan. _ The endearment entered his thoughts before he could drive it off. The exact opposite of his mantra toward patience.

_ Go slowly, _ his mind whispered.

He pressed his lips to her forehead. When so much remained hidden, a steady pace was necessary. “Again, you prove an alluring distraction.”

She tilted her head. “I suppose we’re both hungry for something.”

“Something other than food?” he smiled. “That may be. You and I are not like Cole, however. We must still eat.”

Eirwen sighed. “If you insist.”

_ If I had my way I would set you on my lap so I might feed you, _ he thought, then there’d be no need to break their connection. He breathed in the smell of her hair, crisp and clean. Clung to her like drowning man. Starved for touch, for feeling, for connection. He’d been alone so long in silence. Alone in the dark without a light, his fingers fumbling for sensation. Lost in her warm eyes, he reached past reticence and good sense. He saw the tragedies of the ages reflected in sky blue irises, yet he mistook fortitude for innocence.

_ So wrapped up in who they might have been, you miss who they are. _

His breath caught, that voice was not his.

Eirwen glanced past him to the food on the table, and sniffed. “Smells like stew and a loaf of fresh bread.”

_ Doesn’t that pride bother you, falon? The guilt spiraling into ever more guilt? The worms crawl in your gut, even now. Your dead mouth kisses shadow lips and holds rotten hands. _

He stroked her hair. The voice sounded like several different members of their party all together and then none at all, so it must be a spirit. One of the spirits the villagers complained about in the woods.  _ If it has reconstituted itself enough to regain its voice then it will be trouble. More so if it commands the others.  _ “There were few options to choose from.”

“I’m not complaining,” she said.

“Indeed,” he murmured. “I do not believe I’ve ever heard you utter a complaint, if anything you excuse those of others.”

She frowned. “Are you saying you want me to?”

He tore off a piece of bread from the loaf. “If you are forever accommodating, how shall I know when I err?”

“I’ve been—”

Solas slid the bread between her lips.

Her eyes widened. She chewed, swallowing hastily. “Solas!”

“Is that a complaint, ma nadas?” he asked, brows lifting.

Eirwen rolled her eyes. “No.”

Solas smiled. “You see, you do not complain. How am I to know you without discovering your preferences?”

Reaching past him, Eirwen grabbed the loaf and dipped it in the stew. “I suppose it would be strange if my  _ pretend _ lover didn’t know my favorite foods.”

He opened his mouth. “I—”

She stuffed the bread into it, fingertips trailing across his tongue and lower lip as they slid free. Her mouth yanking into a lopsided smirk.

Oh, yes, he thought as he chewed, she learned these games far too quickly. Rapid reassessment might become necessary. Escalation would be met with escalation. He’d not considered  _ her _ pushing  _ him _ beyond what was comfortable. He must now, though he’d not thought much on his own comfort either. “I find myself more and more amused by your sense of humor.”

“As you should.” Eirwen smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Otherwise, you’ll be miserable.”

He laughed. “That is true.”

“Besides,” her voice light, “there should always be room in life for the unexpected.”

His eyes lifted to the ceiling. “I suppose in a  _ pretend _ romance there must also be room for sermonizing.”

Her fingers swept up, smearing broth across his cheek and nose.

He froze, aware of sloppy grease rolling down his skin. The odd stench of the spices in his nose. He struggled often with these new smells, tried to forget the lack of cleanliness he’d once been accustomed.

She peered up at him. “Solas?”

“You,” his voice lowered, “are you aware of what you have done?”

Her hand hung in the air.

He grasped her wrist, forcing his expression to remain stern. His other hand darting behind him. He scooped the slick stuff with his fingers, swiping them down her forehead and nose. 

Her eyes widened. Brown gobs slid over her face, muddying her garish brands to Falon’din. Her lips pursed, her eyes dropped, and she burst out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like GBF Dorian (I like best friend Dorian who is gay, and in character) so I hope I got him in character. My favorite part about his relationship with Vivienne is the way they snipe at each other, but their aristocracy and magecraft bring them together in the end. The idea of them gossiping together was too good to pass up.
> 
> Ellana insisting she hates Vivienne and then telling her about her love life (because Vivienne is our brisk, strict mom) cracked me up.
> 
> Cole is utterly inappropriate as usual.
> 
> Solas and Eirwen continue to be adorable.
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments! I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story! Indulgence! Indulgence for everyone! All the fluff!


	14. Chapter 14

Eirwen met Solas on a mountainside in the Fade, a place she remembered and a place she loved. A cliff above tall twisting spires of rock in the Vimmark mountains, a few leagues off Falon’din’s shrine in the Wolf’s Teeth. They were called the Horns by those who traveled these lands. She wondered if she'd returned here because of Solas. He’d told her once of how the ancients loved the high places of the world, where the secrets hid themselves away. A place impossible to reach unless one knew how to reach it. Maybe she wanted to show him.

The Clan spent their summers here in the shadow of the Elva’s mountain. They stayed in the valley, hunting in the forests and fishing in ancient groves where human footfalls never walked. Those apprentices gifted with strong magical talent were sent to study the old ways with the Elva on the mountain peak while similarly gifted hunters went to the Telva in the secluded valley below, to study the arts of the Vir Banal’ras. The prophetess Cassiel had shown her the path leading to the Horns when she was a child. During those long summer months, they often walked these cliffs together. The ancient magics had been the order of the day, the differences between human magic and elven magic. The art of blending weaves and spells together simultaneously in order to create powerful and lasting spells. Meditation on the Fade, opening the mind. Cassiel taught her how to reach into the ground and reshape stone. The twining rock formations of the Horns were crafted by spells. A rite of passage for those who wished to join the Elva. A process not dissimilar from calling stone from a dwarven quarry in order to lay down a road. Or calling up wood from the ground to create a shelter large enough for a family of humans.

Her eyes moved to where Solas stood at the cliff's edge, studying the Horns in the gully below. She wondered if he'd noticed. Probably, she decided. He knew many different kinds of magic, magic he insisted he'd learned from his studies in the Fade. For someone who knew so many secrets, he was often ignorant when it came to Dalish magic. He performed elven magic, yes, but like Dorian and Vivienne his spells were often wasteful. Less wasteful, perhaps, than theirs but the spells consumed too much magic and left too little behind. That wasted energy led him casting fewer spells than he should, though his connection to the Fade kept much of the power intact. The Elva knew how to raise mountains with whispers, and Clan Lavellan learned from their example. They had little access to lyrium, and no ability to mine it safely. They made do with less, and with less they could do more.

The magic she’d seen Cassiel perform and the spells she’d been taught were not secrets she wanted to share with him, not yet. The People’s knowledge remained hers. Regardless of past or history, no good came of outsiders knowing the extent of their gifts.

 _I don’t know if I want to ascend the mountain,_ she thought. _The Saeva drew my name and called upon me to serve the Creators and the People, but my life is still mine._

“Chocolate,” Solas said when she reached him.

Eirwen glanced at him. “What?”

His blue-gray eyes were gentle, looking down on the twining granite and jutting rocks below. “Your favorite food, is it not?”

“My favorite human food,” she answered with a smile. “There’s nothing better in the evening at Skyhold than a cup of hot chocolate.”

He arched a brow.

“You never specified when you asked that question during Varric’s game,” Eirwen said. “You asked for my favorite food, but didn’t mention which culture or custom.”

He sighed, his eyes falling back to the stones below. “I must be more specific with my questions in the future. You are a remarkably difficult person to know, ma nadas.”

She smiled, she was rather fond of her dream version. “Layering truth with lies and omissions is practical defense in a world where everything wants to you dead.” Studying him through her lashes, her smile turned wry. “You fill the silence with what you choose to omit too.”

He chuckled. “Such a life would make it difficult to engender trust in others.”

Her eyes returned to the spires, catching on the small crystalline rock formation near the bottom. Her mouth tucked tight into one corner. “Now you sound like Solas.”

“Perhaps because I am,” he answered.

She frowned, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth. Then his words, so similar to what he said now echoed back to her. The Solas she was curled up next to on the bed in the waking world was the Solas who she’d begun dreaming about in… _Skyhold._

_Or, perhaps, I truly am here._

_That’d be something if you were._

_Are you not offended by the possibility?_

There is it was, Eirwen thought. She wondered if he said it earlier too, and she just hadn’t paid attention. He often did that, small suggestions and asides were where the keys always lay. When he said what he couldn’t quite say. Her heart thudded a little quicker, the idea hadn’t occurred to her before. He was a dreamwalker, undoubtedly Somniari, but there’d be nothing to interest Solas here. _Nothing except me._ “You’ve been dreaming of me... _with_ me this whole time?”

“Only these past few weeks, when the dreams began for you.”

Eirwen swallowed.

He sighed. “In truth, you trespassed first in mine and brought your world with you. I expected the first to be the last, but the dreams persisted. The mystery as to why remains.”

 _As usual, that explains exactly nothing._ It probably made sense to him.

She wasn’t a dream expert. Her understanding of the Fade was better than a novice’s, but her experience lay in helping spirits crossover and return home. A somniari could walk in the dreams of others. They were born perhaps once in a generation. The last known walker was the half-human boy Feynriel who’d stayed and studied with Clan Mahariel in the mountains above Kirkwall before traveling to Tevinter. The Elva, she remembered, were irked Keeper Marethari had not brought the boy to study with them. Though, it was possible she hadn't known they existed. The other Dalish never reached out to Clan Lavellan until after tragedy struck. Choosing instead to remain in the shadows of Sundermount, above the blood blighted city.

The rules of Saeva dictated no member of Clan Lavellan walk in shadows where the old ones slept. They’d not known of Clan Mahariel’s arrival in their lands, nor of their troubles with the ancient demon bound into the stone under the mountain. Not until it killed their Keeper, and the survivors sought refuge in the forests beyond Kirkwall. The blighted eluvian rebuilt by their First lost to the winding pathways of that cursed city, perhaps for good. _Probably for the best._ No fortune ever came from the Blight. These days no one knew where the mirrors led or what they opened to.

Eirwen knew some of the Elva possessed skills similar to a Somniari, though they were not naturally gifted. The mages taught by them sometimes walked the Fade differently from those who did not learn at their feet. When the Elva found a student they preferred, they passed down knowledge to them in dreams. As Sariel had with her in the beginning. Lessons Cassiel followed up on several years later. _Maybe that’s why Solas doesn’t make me uncomfortable._

“It happened after we met physically in my study at Skyhold,” he continued, his hands tucking behind his back. “Perhaps you’d no interest in me before then, nor I in you.”

Her eyes fell to the spires below. This part of her life felt so distant now, and she’d been here less than a year ago. “I was curious, but you were usually gone and monopolized when you returned.” She sighed. “Besides, they wouldn’t let me anywhere near Ellana after the explosion and still didn't like me around after she woke up.”

“There will be time to speak of the Inquisitor and Haven later,” he said. “I admit, I am curious how you survived the explosion.” He stretched out a hesitant hand, and lay it on her shoulder. “There is a more important conversation to be had, however.”

She glanced at him.

“I must apologize, Eirwen. It was wrong of me to continue these dreams without your permission.”

Her brows rose, she hadn’t expected him to apologize. Not again, certainly. Not so soon after his last one. Two apologies in less than twelve hours. Where had his justifications gone? she wondered with a smile. “Serannas, Solas.” Her eyes rose to the sky. “It probably was wrong, but I did have fun. These were better, really, than most of my dreams.”

“I am glad you enjoyed them,” he said. “However, the fact you do not take offense is worrying all the same.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. The mountain air was crisp as it filled her lungs, nostalgic. “I suppose, it is. A mage’s dreams aren’t exactly sacrosanct.” She sighed. “If I got mad at you, I’d have to be angry at every desire demon or curious spirit who wandered by. Honestly, you being you is better than the alternative. Suledin used to appear in my dreams too.” Her mouth pulled sideways wryly. “That didn’t turn out well.”

He squeezed her shoulder.

She pursed her lips. “I’m glad neither of us got hurt.” Her eyes opened, and she glanced at him slyly. “It was nice, like having a secret. A secret that was just mine. I kept it because I wanted to, not out of duty or obligation.” Stretching out her hand, her fingers traced down the curve of his cheek. “I didn’t have to share.”

His gray-blue eyes softened.

“Keeper told me when I left that I must live selfishly,” she said. “I don’t…” her thumb brushed his jaw. “I don’t really know how. I think the dreams, my dreams, our dreams were the closest I’ve come. A place inside my own head that's mine, where I could see and say and do the things I didn’t have the courage to before.”

He reached out, his hand resting on her hip. “Then, do you wish the dreams to continue?” his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Or shall I leave you to your thoughts?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’d be the same if you were gone, the dream is sharper when you’re here.”

“Your perceptiveness does you credit,” he said with a smile. Tugging her to him, his other arm slipped about her shoulders. “If the Inquisitor does take me back into her party, we might use these dreams as a means of remaining in contact.” His lips brushed her temple. “It will be interesting to see if they are limited by distance, but I suspect such initial restrictions might be overcome.”

“You suspect,” she teased, her finger twining about the leather thong of his necklace. “I thought you’d better things to do in the Fade.”

“Mmm,” he murmured. “I do.”

“You do,” she echoed.

He chuckled. “None quite so rewarding as this, however.”

She snorted. “Flatterer.”

His lips brushed her ear. “I only speak what is true, ma nadas. The thought of being without you for months on end is hardly enjoyable.”

Her fingers wandered up his chest. “You’re a tease.” Lips curling into a smile, she toyed with his necklace. “I think that’s your native state.”

He laughed, teeth closing on her ear. “Are you suggesting I am a trickster?”

A thrum of pleasure flushed through her body. “You have a…” her breath hitched, “fascination with…” biting her lip as his teeth trailed her skin, “them.”

“Across many cultures,” he agreed. “Varric’s in particular.”

“Hard in Hightown,” her lashes fluttered, “good book.”

“Mmm,” he nodded.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell you stories about the Dread Wolf?”

He paused. “I… maybe.”

She stroked his cheek. “You might find you enjoy them.”

“Perhaps,” his voice reticent. “I thought the Dalish considered their tricksters traitors.”

“Sometimes,” Eirwen said. “Sometimes, the Dread Wolf has a lesson we must learn or some wisdom to impart. That’s the way tricksters are. Their lessons are often difficult, but through their tricks we learn and grow.” She paused, aware of his silence. “The Dread Wolf is part of the stories that teach us how to survive in this world, not unlike the Chantry and Andraste. Andraste was real, but I doubt their Chant is any more faithful than our legends.”

“You are…” he paused again. “Perhaps, you are correct. You’ve said before you did not know if your Creators existed and you put no faith in them. Your people loathe Fen’Harel, many Dalish take the concept of their gods literally. They are strict, stringent, and devout. Did you never consider the possibility your Dread Wolf might exist?”

Eirwen's mouth twitched. “Dalish beliefs and believers are stubborn because the rest of the world tries to tear our culture from us."

"Yes, but, did you ever entertain the possibility he could be real?"

She sighed. “I did once. I think every Dalish child believes at some point. We're all afraid the Dread Wolf might come snatch us up in the night.” She felt Solas tense again, and she wondered why this subject bothered him. He was an odd duck. Myth had no right or wrong, it just was. Passed on because the stories still had meaning, relevant to how they lived their lives. “If Fen'Harel does exist, I think he has better things to do than eat naughty children." Her mouth tugged sideways wryly. "Not that it matters, I stopped being afraid of him when I was six.”

He laughed. “Six? What event destroyed your fear so completely at such a young age?”

Eirwen leaned against him. She wondered if he was ready to hear that answer. _He asked, I suppose there's no harm in him knowing._ Ellana might choose to tell him about this part anyway, it was a famous tale among members of their Clan. She'd rather be the one to tell him about her childhood. Some information couldn't be passed on second hand. “That’s easy. I was given into the care of Iseth, our First after my mother left for Wycome.”

This time, Solas’ arms did tighten. “Your mother abandoned you?”

She tugged at her fingers. “Well, yes, after my father died. I came into my magic not long after that. The Dalish life is hard and I was difficult. She originally came from the Alienages. She loved my father, but never enjoyed our lifestyle. On a trading trip to the city, she fell in love with a cloth merchant. Her childhood sweetheart before she ran off into the woods to seek out the forest elves. He too was recently widowed. A few months later, she went to live with him.”

His forehead rested against her temple. “You were a mage child, to take you with her would have meant inevitable capture by Templars and a life in the Circles.”

“It’s an old story among my people,” Eirwen said. “She couldn’t stay, but wanted me to have a better life." There was no use reflecting on what might have been. It was an old pain, and the bitterness easily swallowed. Her mother’s abandonment itched sometimes, but that was all. “She’s happy now.”

His fingers stroked her hair. “I want you to tell me the rest,” he murmured, “but not here. This place ought to remain a refuge, safe from the sorrows of the past.”

Resting her head against his shoulder, she smiled. “Baring our souls is a form of refuge, Solas. How else might we take comfort in each other?”

His lips pulled into a sad smile.

Eirwen closed her eyes. Sorrow for her? she wondered. Or sorrow for himself? Either way, there was little point in dwelling on it. He might reveal more of to her in time. The information could come in pieces as they grew more comfortable with one another. Maybe he'd tell her why he was so interested in Dalish lore, especially when he professed to dislike it. There were a few possibilities, all of them beyond the realm of believable. However, that didn't make them any less true. She grinned. “Do you know why I’m not frightened of the Dread Wolf?”

His wry chuckle echoed in her ear. “No, however, I would be happy to hear such a question's answer.”

“Mmm,” she traced her finger up his neck. Her eyes moving to the Horns below. “I don't know if you know, but the Dread Wolf’s statue guards our camps. We set him always on the furthest edge. He faces outward, so he might turn his eye elsewhere and play his tricks on any evil spirits that approach."

"I did know the Dalish separated Fen'Harel from the others," he said. "However, I never heard the reasoning described in such a way. Your people believe the Dread Wolf will hurt you, but also protect you?"

"In our legends, Fen'Harel is a gray sort of character," Eirwen replied. "Some might see him as evil, but he's capricious by nature. He may help if he wishes but always at a price. He will trouble us when he wishes, though only if there is something to be gained. I suppose he represents unpredictability and uncertainty. Like the natural world, he is friend and foe. It is the duty of the Keeper to meet him in certainty, so the Clan might be protected from his tricks. Our people know we cannot look to him to save us, and so we've learned instead to save ourselves. Still, we honor him in our own way. There are those who still erect shrines to him and, for all they complain, the Dalish still call upon Fen'Harel more often than any other."

Solas paused. "Ah, yes, may the Dread Wolf take you," his stilted voice caught, "that is a perspective I'd not considered. Please, continue."

Smiling, Eirwen shook her head. Solas seemed caught on the Dread Wolf as if the Dalish relationship with Fen'Harel were a puzzle to be sorted out. "Well," she continued, "whenever I proved too intractable Iseth would drag me to where the Dread Wolf stood at night and leave me there under the stars." 

“She hoped the dark would frighten you,” Solas said.

"She told me Fen’Harel came to devour naughty children.” She smiled. “I told her I thought the Dread Wolf had better taste."

Chuckling, Solas rested his chin on her head.

"On the nights I misbehaved, I would stand there alone until she returned. I often heard wolves howling in the night, but the Dread Wolf never came.”

“I see,” Solas murmured. “Your Iseth hoped to trick you. How did you know the wolves in the forest were not Fen'Harel?”

“The wolves I heard sang together, each voice lifting the others. Wolves hunt together as the People do; all except He Who Hunts Alone. If Fen'Harel howled, there’d be no answer.” Her mouth pulled sideways. “I've heard lone wolves sing before, their songs are so sad."

Solas was silent.

She shook her head. “By the third time Iseth dragged me to the statue, I’d gotten bored. Still, in the dark there was nowhere to go. Nowhere except up.”

He jerked. “Up? Tell me you did not…”

“I’m afraid I did.” Eirwen smiled. “I made a game out of scaling the statue. It took me a few nights, but by the sixth I’d learned how to get up on top of Fen’Harel’s head and down before Iseth arrived.”

He snorted.

“I grew bored with that game not long after. With nothing left to do, I planned to ensure Iseth would never leave me at Fen’Harel’s statue again.”

Solas’ thumb traced up the back of her neck. “I believe I am beginning to understand the Inquisitor’s confusion. You must have been an inventive troublemaker as a child.”

Eirwen laughed. “I was a handful.”

His breath brushed her ear. “You still are.”

Knocking his chest with her fist, she shook her head. “Should I finish this story or do you want to continue interrupting?”

Solas’s smile pulled sideways against her temple. “By all means, continue.”

She sighed. “On the eighth night had my plan in place, I climbed to the top of Fen’Harel’s head and I waited for Iseth to return for me. This time, though, I hid myself in the shadows. I waited and waited, my heart racing when I saw a faint silver light in the trees. Iseth always carried a small ball of conjured light with her in the dark. I flattened myself on top of the Wolf’s head, my legs braced against his ears as my fingers clung to his snout. Iseth stopped where she always did, where she expected me to be. I wasn’t there. I watched Iseth circle the statue. She searched around in the bushes and called out my name. Until, finally, she got fed up and cast this massive ball of light over the whole area. As the light cascaded over my head, I leapt to my feet. I stood from atop Fen'Harel's head as she gaped and flipped two birds like the shemlen do. I yelled at the top of my lungs, ‘enansal mala gawen!’”

“You yelled, ‘we are blessed by your yellow snow’ at your caretaker?”

“Right as a returning patrol walked past,” Eirwen replied. “I was six, Solas. It was the best insult I could manage.”

“I see,” he murmured. “Such a response must have been unexpected. I find myself wondering why your child-self chose this plan as opposed to others.”

She shrugged. “My Apae always said the best way to win your battles is to shatter your opponent’s confidence so completely they never again try the same trick.”

“Your father was a wise man,” Solas said, stroking her hair.

Eirwen smiled. “Yes, he was. You see, Iseth’s weakness was rigidity in her beliefs. Like so many Chantry sisters, she clung to doctrine as her means to define the world. She did to me what was done to her. The terror she felt standing at the edge of Clan Raleferin’s camp all alone in the night convinced her the Dread Wolf was real.” She glanced up at him. “There’s only one good way to defeat such serious and unyielding doctrinal devotion.”

His brows rose.

“With irreverence,” Eirwen said. “When we laugh at what scares us, it’s no longer frightening. Her punishment was designed to frighten me. If I wasn’t frightened then it wasn’t a punishment and therefore pointless.”

A wry smile tilted on his mouth. “An impressive analysis for a child, few adults might see the wisdom in such a solution. I suspect you’ve grown wiser with age, though now wonder I if there ever was a time when you were not.”

Giggling, Eirwen shook her head. “It was a child’s logic, Solas. There are plenty of children all over the world who’ve figured out what I did.”

“As always, you are quick to pass on your accomplishments,” he said, his voice mild. “Do you never take credit for what you’ve achieved?”

“All I managed to do was cause Iseth to escalate,” Eirwen replied, slipping free from his arms. She walked to the edge of the cliff, her eyes returning to the Horns below. She didn't want to be acknowledged for brilliance, not when considering what came next. Crossing her arms, she sighed. “We were both stubborn and we couldn’t bend. Neither of us would submit. Our conflict continued on for several years afterward until, finally, one of us broke. That’s hardly an accomplishment.”

“You were a child,” Solas said gently.”You cannot be held accountable to the same degree.”

“I know,” she said. “That truth doesn’t make what happened any less tragic.”

“Yet I suspect you were not the one who broke.”

“No,” Eirwen smiled, tilting her head. Glad he couldn't see her face. “I broke her.”

Solas’ silence filled the space between them.

 _That day set me on the path,_ she thought. Around her, the Fade’s mountain air was cool. _I did as I always do, I always break them._ She closed her eyes. _That’s the uncomfortable truth in my gift. Why the Elva want me to ascend the mountain. They plan to harness this stubbornness inside me for the Creators’ purpose. This perverse desire to stand against all challengers. To bring them down._

Iseth believed her to be both monster and demon. The devil child sent to dog her steps as she walked the world. Too bright by half, brilliant by far, and terribly clever. Who learned too quickly. Who challenged her knowledge. Challenged her skill. Challenged her beliefs. Challenged her future as a Keeper. Challenged her.

_The reed who cannot learn to bend with the wind breaks._

Those were her father’s words.

_That is life, da’len. The wind will choose to blow gently of its own accord. It will not change, no matter how we demand it. That is why you must learn to be supple as the reed and uncompromising as the wind. When danger comes, you shall know how to bend before their horrors. Yet never shall you yield to those who would strip you of all you are. When they think you rendered harmless, answer them as a gale to shake the very foundations of the earth. Your enemies will never rise again._

_Is that what you did against the slavers, Apae? Did you become a storm?_

He'd laughed.  _There is a storm in all our hearts. One day, you will learn to release yours._

Eirwen rubbed her forehead. She hadn’t meant to bring up Iseth. Hadn’t meant to bring up the Dread Wolf, or her mother, or her childhood. None of it was what she’d planned to ask. She’d wanted to ask what he might consider a good form of reciprocation for his earlier gesture. The Dalish tradition was to give a gift their partner valued, a sign of how well they knew them. So much about Solas remained a mystery, after what he'd offered her the traditional concepts all fell flat. As did the gifts she’d seen her friends give to their partners.

 _Our ears must listen as our mouths speak, Eirwen,_ she repeated, remembering her father’s gentle poke to her forehead. _There is a time for all, and a time for none. Be patient._ A sad smile tugged at her mouth. _Apae, you always knew what to say and what to do._ Her eyes opened and she studied the stone formations below. She’d been so young when he died. _I miss you._

“I suppose that was not what I wanted to tell you,” Eirwen said. Her voice echoed against the rocks, empty. She glanced behind her. “Solas?”

No one answered.

Her gut twisted a little when she realized he was gone. Her eye caught on movement above her, and she turned. A face hovered in the mountainside over her head. It was, in fact, the size of the rock wall and studied her with curious yellow eyes.

“Well, well, well,” a masculine voice chuckled, the rocks rumbling beneath her feet. “It’s been an age since I was visited by a member of Clan Lavellan. Yet, here you are, come again.”

 _Oh,_  Eirwen thought.  _Oh, no._

"Oh yes," the voice replied, rather cheerfully. "I've come to ask a favor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The funny part about that story is Eirwen really has no idea Solas is Fen'Harel. None, zero, zilch. Not a clue. She's agnostic. She will get confused if anyone tries to talk to her like the Creators, the Forgotten Ones, or Fen'Harel are people. They're symbolism. The idea they might be is not one she really entertains beyond humoring others who do believe in more literal terms. We can probably blame Iseth.
> 
> Eirwen's childhood battles with Iseth are the same in every canon, however Solas doesn't always hear about them. Or the extent of them. He doesn't always hear about her parents either because Eirwen doesn't talk much about her personal life. Get enough pitying looks and we just don't bring stuff up like that anymore. Eirwen's versions of normal are a little skewed.
> 
> We're gonna get a little off-canon worldbuilding wise, but I can't help it. I color outside the lines.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks everyone who has been leaving comments. Really, I appreciate them so much. You guys always leave me with smiles to last a week.


	15. Chapter 15

Solas jerked from the dream. Rudely awakened with the strangest sensation, as if he’d been cast into his waking state by someone or something else. _A spirit, most likely an annoying one._ The world in darkness was comforting, comfortable if hazy. Pleasantly warm and relaxed, with only a few odd angles poking uncomfortable places. The air gentle on his skin, his breath cool in his lungs, and his nose… it itched.

He opened his eyes.

Eirwen slumbered beneath him. Her small frame curled into a small ball as she lay on her side. More accurately, he supposed, he’d fallen asleep atop her. The blankets they’d erected into a small fortress between them were scattered all across the bed. The quilted covers and furs tangled up about his legs, his arm wrapped loosely about her waist. His mouth on her ear. She tucked neatly against him, her robe fallen open to reveal a bare shoulder and the curve of her neck. Orange hair flopped across her brow, fine strands tickling his nose. He’d lost his shirt at some point, and saw it lying not far from the bed’s edge on the floor. The wolf’s jaw bone he wore for a necklace still hung about his neck. Hot skin touched his, electrifying, and he wondered how he slept through... whatever their subconsciouses had done.

Gently, he stroked her hair with his fingers. He’d a better sense of her aura now than before. Whatever knocked him away wanted privacy, though for what conversation he could not guess. The spirit he sensed was old and powerful, and would not be pleased if he returned. Different too from the one who’d spoken to him earlier. At present, Eirwen was not danger. If he barged back in, the situation might change.

Solas withheld a sigh, eyes rising to the familiar shadow standing in the center of the room. _Besides, I’ve another visitor._ “Hello, Cole.”

“Is it… always like that?” Cole asked. “One on top of the other, your bodies smushed together?”

Solas paused, aware of his stiffness in unfortunate places. If he left the bed, Cole was bound to notice. He might notice anyway, happiness proved a balm to pain. He sighed. Stroking back Eirwen’s hair, he planted a kiss atop her head. Much as he wanted to remain where he was, he could not have this conversation lying on her. He could barely have it while remaining in bed.

Slowly, regretfully, he sat up. Leaning against the headboard, his hand covered his eyes. “Sometimes, yes.”

Cole stepped forward, the broad brim of his hat catching in the moonlight. His eyes curious. “Do you lie together because you like it? Or because she fits in you?”

“I…” Solas’ voice caught in his throat. Were Cole anyone else he might’ve taken the comment as innuendo. Knew too the innuendo itself would be correct. In both interpretations, Cole’s questions had the same answer and neither were entirely satisfactory.

Cole continued, oblivious. “Smoothing off the jagged edges, pieces fitting together, piecing together like a puzzle box. You’re not rough at your center.” His head tilted, frowning. “You were before.”

Solas swallowed, these were not questions he wanted to be answering. Usually, it was easier to keep Cole’s focus off him and onto others. Or, redirect Cole back to himself. That way he never saw more than he should. _If I am leaking, there will be trouble._ His eyes shifted, and his hand fell to where Eirwen lay dreaming.

“She’s safe,” Cole said. “The old one isn’t like the others. He hears the song better. He’s brighter, fuller, in reflection. He misses when his friends met him on the forgotten paths. She is like them, he won’t hurt her.”

“I know,” Solas replied, his voice even and he fought off the strain. His fingers stroked Eirwen’s soft hair. After his rough waking during her personal story, he owed her yet another apology. The guilt knotted in his throat. Seeing Cole reminded him of the realities surrounding their circumstance, reminded him of what he’d forgotten. For a few blissful hours, he’d forgotten what was to come. The unfairness in that, the cruelty to her. _No matter what I do, this relationship remains wrong._

“You’re happy, Solas,” Cole said. “She sees you, senses you; says what you need. She just doesn’t realize it. Why is that wrong?”

“That is not the point,” he said, his voice terser than he’d intended.

Eirwen shifted in her sleep, rolling over with a soft murmur. Her forehead rested on his waist, arm thrown across his waist. He couldn’t help his smile. Eirwen’s story of her rebellion against Iseth had been a balm on his spirit, though her comments about the former First troubled him. The relationship between them had obviously been abusive. However she blamed herself, the fault lay with her caretaker and the other adults in her Clan. Those who might’ve halted the progression of events before they went too far.

“Iseth locked her under a mountain and made it fall,” Cole said. “She wanted the fear of the gods in her so she’d behave; but the mountain fell too much. ‘The world rumbles. Stone tumbles, one first, then another. More and more. The ceiling caves around me. Breath catches in my throat, twisting, twining, sick with the scent of moss and lichen. If the rock crushes me will I meet you, Apae?’ Then the darkness came, silence under the rock. Iseth never saw the mountain, never realized she had to bend first. _The reed that doesn’t learn to bend in the wind breaks._ She thought she was the wind, but she wasn’t. The wind broke her reed instead.”

“I do not need you to do that, Cole,” he said, his heart catching in his throat. His hand paused on top of Eirwen’s head. Locked her under a mountain and made it fall? There had been a great deal more to her story than she’d shared. “She will tell me of her past in her own time.”

“She _doesn’t_ talk about it,” Cole said impatiently. “That’s why I’m telling you. The only ones who know are the ravens and the mountain, and neither wants to tell. Except the mountain. He talks too much.” Cole let out a quick breath, one of his not quite sighs. “You could hear them if you listened. You could hear her too.”

Solas rubbed his forehead. He understood better than most how to parse apart Cole’s statements. Other times, however, they remained vague and vexing. Half an answer to a question he was not ready to ask. The conversations went more smoothly when Compassion asked him questions or wanted explanations, and stayed less helpful when he offered advice. _This relationship between Eirwen and myself is new enough without the interference of others._ He was in no mood to rush her toward a healing she did not want. “Did you come for a reason, Cole? Or merely to pay me a visit?”

Cole shook his head. “Ela wanted me to find you. She intends to surprise you, but you don’t like surprises.”

“Ah,” Solas settled into the pillows, arm encircling Eirwen’s shoulders. He’d enough problems with one Lavellan, he thought. Two were less than ideal.

Eirwen yawned sleepily, snuggling closer.

Solas’ smile widened and found himself wishing Cole was not present, not with the direction his thoughts were headed.

“Ela doesn’t really want to be with you,” Cole added. “She just wants you to not be you.”

“I know,” Solas replied absently. “I am well aware of her feelings, but I cannot reciprocate. What I offer is not amenable to her needs.”

“I’m sorry,” Cole said.

Solas shook his head, he did not feel the need to mention his heart belonged to someone else. “Do not be. She has you. You are Compassion, I am certain your kindness will help her find a happiness of her own.”

“No, I’m sorry I told her she tugs you in the right places,” Cole said. “She does, but not the way she thinks. She’s like you. You like her but don’t want her to be with you. I said it wrong.”

Solas covered his face. No, he reminded himself, he would not groan. There was more than enough confusion to go around already. The relationship between Eirwen and Ellana was confusing enough. He’d managed to complicate matters with his indecision and trapped himself in a triangle. A quadrangle, in fact, if he counted Bull. The very same triangle Eirwen resolutely avoided, initially by avoiding him. His stomach twisted. Eirwen put the good of others ahead of herself. She pushed him toward Ellana, even while sharing her attraction. Were he more interested in Ellana, he might never have known. She picked her battles carefully. In the end, she might simply release him to avoid the inevitable drama. His mouth formed a grim line. _Such a course requires I be willing._

Therein lay the irony. The correct choice would be to let her let him go. He could focus on what was important. On stopping Corypheus, recovering his foci, and restoring the People. Yet, without hesitation, he dismissed his own sensible advice.

He’d thought he might sabotage himself in questioning her more about Dalish beliefs. Their stories regarding the Dread Wolf always helped him remember the distance between them, reminded him not to become too attached. Yet, she surprised him again. Her approach to her people’s lore and history proved more rational than expected. After their conversation in the Fade, he respected her more than ever. She’d called him capricious, cruel, suggested he’d a fair weather nature, and his indignation never came. _She does not see the Dread Wolf that way._

One could not hate nature, after all.

_I suppose he represents unpredictability and uncertainty. Like the natural world, he is friend and foe. It is the duty of the Keeper to meet him in certainty, so the Clan might be protected from his tricks._

Eirwen humored him. She did not consider the Dread Wolf a literal being, neither a person nor a personage. Fen’Harel was a symbol of her people’s experience, a story told to help them understand the world and the dangers in it. She accepted the Dalish might be wrong in regards to the historical accuracy of their myths. Though, he forced himself to consider, they might also be more correct than he’d previously admitted.

_Still, we honor the Dread Wolf in our own way. There are those who still erect shrines to him and, for all they complain, the Dalish still call upon Fen'Harel more often than any other._

He closed his eyes and swallowed another sigh, their lack of proper history did not detract from the meaning those stories held for her people. Once, they might have been close to truth. However, the original stories passed into legend and those legends had become myths. Her explanation for their arrogance and stubbornness rankled, but he saw the logic inherent in the observation. She'd not see those same stories connected to him, regardless of the hints he dropped when curiosity overwhelmed. For Eirwen, Solas was Solas and the Dread Wolf a legend used by fools to frighten her into good behavior.

He’d yet to decide if those opinions left the gulf between them more difficult to cross.

_The Dalish know we cannot look to Fen’Harel to save us. We’ve learned instead to save ourselves._

Now, he saw the irony in his actions and his frustrations. Had independence not been what he wanted? Perhaps not in this way, perhaps not as they were. He’d not wanted all the music gone from the world, nor the People separate from themselves. Those in the cities subjugated until they were no better than humans, and the others wanderers living in the forest attempting to replicate a life less than half-remembered. Yet the Dalish were independent. Free in their way, despite the garish brands they still wore and the monsters they honored as gods. Living in small enclaves away from the humans who now owned their world, their empire shattered. They wandered the wilderness carrying scraps of a once great legacy. Yet, he thought, they had built upon those scraps. It was possible the Dalish had become something beyond what he knew, perhaps more than what he expected.

He felt more kinship toward Dorian and Tevinter than he did the Dalish. Eirwen and Ellana both were often strange and confusing. He hardly knew what to make of them and the lifestyle they believed to be elvhen. Eirwen often acted in ways entirely unlike any elvhen he remembered. Layered herself in ways he could not anticipate, hid herself in facets. Though only a vague echo, Tevinter magic held more similarity to elvhen technique than Dalish spellcasting. His personal style nearer Dorian’s than Eirwen's. That similarity was what had prompted him to leave the foci for Corypheus in the beginning, so the monster might unlock it and die in the moment of his victory. The reminder of his previous realization left his frustrations more acute than before.

 _Considering what I witnessed in the mountains above Haven, the Dalish are capable of more impressive feats than I previously believed._ He wondered now why few spirits cared to watch Clan Lavellan, why he never happened upon similar spells in dreams as he journeyed through the Fade. Then again, he’d not traveled much past Kirkwall. The events there took precedence over all else. Exploring forests beyond the Vimmark mountains was a luxury he did not have time for. His experiences with the Dalish primarily centered around Fereldan and Orlais. After his initial rejection, he'd studied them from a distance and through their dreams.

“She told you, people often find what they’re looking for,” Cole said. “They miss what they don’t try to see.”

“Most are people are happy with a surface reflection, they see their expectations and are satisfied,” Solas replied absently, stroking Eirwen’s hair.

Cole sighed. “She meant you didn’t look. You didn’t hear her then either. Everyone hears what she says but never what she means, and what she means is what she says. That’s why she’s wise.”

His lips twitched. _I see you’ve thrown many a quiet dig my direction, ma nadas. More than I previously believed._ Perhaps his love of subtlety left him more amused than irked. He’d begun to appreciate her slyness, and the way she concealed secrets behind her eyes. Her depths proving ever deeper than he previously imagined. She did not share her knowledge in hopes of winning his approval. She never spoke of Dalish magical traditions or practice during their discussions on theory. She let him bear the weight of conversation, allowed him to teach her. He’d not thought she might be withholding an answer she already knew, prodding to see the extent of his knowledge. Solas closed his eyes. The blame lay on his shoulders, she might have answered if he thought to ask.

He sighed. “Will you return to Ellana, Cole?”

“I will wait until she draws nearer. She does not need me, and there is pain here.”

Mouth thinning, Solas forced himself to smile. Normally, he enjoyed Cole’s company but there was much the young spirit might reveal and more he might interrupt. “I’m sure the others will be happy to have you with us.”

“You’re worried my presence will stop you from smushing.” Cole paused. “I will try not to. I do not understand the positions, but Dorian drew me a diagram. When the pieces fit together, they’re pleasing, pleasurable, filled with soft sighs and satisfaction. Smushing makes the village boys and girls happy. Maybe you should try it too.”

Solas sighed. There was much he wanted to avoid, irritation with Cole’s innocence included. Eirwen was already enough of a handful, his urgent need to touch her left the situation worse. “ _Smushing_ is not currently under consideration.”

“You were thinking of it though,” Cole said.

“The acts of thinking and doing are separate, Cole,” Solas said. “Just as one does not give voice to all the thoughts floating on the surface of their minds.”

Cole was silent for a moment, considering. “She would show you if you asked, Solas.”

“What would she show me?” Solas asked, against all his better instincts.

Cole stared at him with large innocent eyes. “How a whisper moves mountains.”

“Ah,” Solas sighed. That description hardly helped. His eyes fell to Eirwen, but she slept on. She slept lightly and rarely, and he’d no desire to wake her. A deep slumber would do her good. He closed his eyes. “Perhaps we’d best move to a different discussion, unless you’d like to meet with Varric and the Iron Bull.”

“They are sleeping. I will stay, and I promise not to look. Do you have a problem with me being here?”

“No,” Solas shook his head. “Your company is always welcome. I am curious about your travels and what you have seen. If you like, I hope you will enlighten me on the pains you have eased.”

Cole smiled and launched into a story.

Relieved, Solas lay against the pillows. Gently, he lifted Eirwen so her head rested more comfortably on his chest rather than leaving her cheek pressed to his ribcage. In such a position, she snuggled even closer. Her arm slung across his chest, leg thrown over his waist. Head rolling so her nose buried against his collarbone. A strange sensation followed, a warm ball unknotting his stomach. As he rested on an alien bed in an alien land filled with shadows and misery the guilt he’d believed all consuming drifted away. Left him happy. It was an uncomfortable prickly sort of happiness, melancholy and not in absence of despair. Yet, he found he could not relieve himself of this odd betrayal of memory. He forgot the People and all they lost, his pain eased. Not over, perhaps, but manageable. A betrayal he did not wholly regret.

 

Eirwen sighed.

The stone face referred to himself as Ellasin, the name given to him by the Sylvhen mage who’d visited these parts not long after the Dales fell. A companion to the Knight Protector Lavellan and his raven brothers. Ellasin was one of the elga’vhen’alas, a spirit of the earth. They didn’t usually appear in the Fade, they were rooted in the world. Still, they found their way into dreams when they'd something to say. Dalish legend held the elga’vhen’alas been trapped outside the Beyond when Fen’Harel tricked the Creators and the Forgotten Ones. They tumbled from the Fade as the Dread Wolf locked the old gods away in their respective realms. Lost and alone, they’d no choice but to make the earth their home.

Whatever the reason, the elga’vhen’alas were spirits who took refuge in the natural world. The process was not entirely dissimilar from how Cole created a body for himself after the death of the other Cole. Instead of as a human, they’d chosen to make their forms from stone and tree, in the whispers of babbling brooks. Ellasin was Durgan, a stone spirit inhabiting the rocks in the hills above Caledan. He was cousin to the Adahlan who slipped into the trunks of trees, or built their skin out of wood and hair from leaves. Both were different from the Varterral and the Sylvans. They were friendly to the People. Or, at least, friendly to those of the Marcher Clans. The spirits of the land hid themselves away from humans, Qunari, dwarves, and even some Dalish Clans. There were those humans who practiced rituals in their honor, prayed to them, or left offerings outside their wood. Traditions held over from before the birth of the Chantry among the descendants of those who never journeyed from old Tevinter. She supposed, in a way, they were little gods.

In another age, Ellasin bound himself into the stone. Taken a name and decided on a gender, though he needn’t either. He had a body, though he hadn’t used it in quite some time. She doubted he was the forest’s ancient horror, the one Innkeeper Brom told her of. The spirit who wandered the dreams of the townsfolk and gave them nightmares. Though, she supposed, it was possible. An eighteen foot creature formed singularly of granite would no doubt terrify the locals if it ever decided to get up and walk.

The great yellow eye rolled sideways, dropping down the wall to fix her in the slit of its pupil. “You understand my predicament?”

“Yes,” she said, the demons inhabiting the manor had begun moving into the wood and threatened friendlier spirits. The human dead were up and moving, but those ancients of her Clan in the cairns and ruins under Ellasin’s eye still slept peacefully. If the horror from under the mountain crept closer that would change, their dreams would grow uneasy and they would rise from their slumber. “I’m still not sure why you didn’t want to speak to Solas. He’s more experienced than I am.”

“He is not Lavellan,” Ellasin replied. “The ways of our kin hold little value to him.”

She scratched the back of her head, lips pursing. “He knows more of spirits, and he does value knowledge.”

“Consult him then if you like,” Ellasin said. “I won’t reject his aid if he decides to give it. However, this is a family issue. Yours, not his. Your resolve will be tested, and a clear sight is necessary. Deception draws closer. The nightmare under the mountain plays all against the middle.”

Eirwen bit her lip. Ellasin’s familiarity troubled her, he spoke as if he were a member of her Clan. The elga’vhen’alas were friendly, well friendlier than some of the other spirits. They cultivated ancient forests, and took responsibility protecting the lands where the da’vhen roamed. The Dalish, of course, were the da’vhen, the Little People. Clan Lavellan called the elga’vhen’alas ha’vhen, the Big People. They were kin, sort of. They cared for wild and untamed lands, protecting their chosen from humans and other hunters. If there was a shadowed grove beyond a town or village where few dared travel or believed haunted, it was likely an elga’vhen’alas had taken up habitation.

Among the eldest of these spirits, the entire forest was their body. Their fingers in the boughs, roots, and branches. Their presence drew others to them, the trees themselves gained consciousness, and the animals grew more intelligent. The elga’vhen’alas were subtler and more certain in personality. It was difficult for one to be corrupted, though it was possible. They’d a fondness for children, especially elven children, and watched over those lost in their woods. Sometimes they helped them, took the shape of animal to guide them, or called upon the nearby da’vhen for aid. In the forests of the March, many orphans whose parents were murdered by bandits found their way to Clan Lavellan or were recovered by a hunter who took them home.

After Iseth collapsed the entrance to an ancient ruin with her still inside and her eventual escape, a forest spirit had taken her into its care. She’d lived with it during the eight months she went missing from her Clan, when she was too frightened to go home. The spirit called itself Ada’hamin, and occasionally took the form of an old, stooped woman with bark skin and vines for hair. She lived in the hollow of an ancient tree. Her forest residence was north of the Marcher city, Tantervale. She left trinkets and tokens for those mortals who left her offerings at the forest edge, charms for good fortune.

 _After the ravens and the Elva led me to her,_ Eirwen thought. At the time, she’d been eight and the mysteries of the forest a grand adventure.

Ellasin didn’t regard Solas as da’vhen. She'd expect that when dealing with the barefaced city elves, but Solas never had trouble with spirits. _I’m missing something._ “So, if I help you, you’ll teach me how to revive the Sylvhen wards left in the town. The ones created by my ancestors when they sealed the horror under the mountain.” The wards he spoke of required no lyrium. They wouldn’t be difficult to cast, only to learn. With them, she could protect the Caledan townsfolk and those in more vulnerable places across Thedas. They’d be protected from the spirits pouring through the hole in the sky.

“I will give you the gift regardless, da’vhen. I do not fritter away secrets and baubles in exchange for services. You act as honor demands. Remaining still brings the most harm, so you step forward to claim responsibility. A daughter of ravens is always welcome in my company, to sit at my table, rest in the shadow of my cliffs, and learn what I know.”

“Serannas, hahren,” she said. “Would you object if I brought Solas to meet you in the waking world? It'll be difficult to reach you otherwise.”

“Bring the boy too,” Ellasin said. “I have advice for a brother who is uncertain of what form he should choose. Do not be startled if I slumber, I may require a few pokes in order to wake.”

 _Cole,_ she thought. _Cole must be nearby._ Did that mean Ellana was close too? She hoped not, that was a headache she didn’t want to deal with. Not yet, anyway. _If Ellana is coming, that’s hardly a surprise._ Odds had always been on her Clan sister growing impatient with the human royals and their stuffiness. _I’m surprised it took her this long to come looking for Solas._ Ellana did like to chase what vexed her. Her hunter’s nose, Dirthara called it, an obsession with pursuing prey beyond her reach until she finally wore it down. _Well,_ _this will be uncomfortable._

“Leave the dreamless and the horned one,” Ellasin added. “The nightmare gathers its forces to attack from the west. The town will be safer with them as vanguard.”

“Some secrets should remain secret,” Eirwen said. “I understand. The Iron Bull is Ben’Hassrath and Varric an author. There’s no need for them to press beyond the realm of silly Dalish superstition.”

The mountain’s lips formed a smile, rocks beneath her feet rumbling as it laughed. “Bring them to me one day, when the spy no longer spies on the spy and sends his secrets home. Truths written in tales do little harm. They aid in obscuring the truth for the foolish, and plant seeds of curiosity in the Telling. Hold tale-tellers in high regard, da’vhen.”

Eirwen shook her head, smiling wryly. “I’m going to wake up now.”

“Don’t wait too long,” Ellasin said. “Or events will progress past the point they are easily managed.”

With a nod, Eirwen turned to face the Horns and willed herself to wake up. Her eyes opened, cheek hot to the point of feverish. Her nose buried in the same warmth, simultaneously hard and soft. The corner of her mouth felt sticky.

“I see you are awake,” Solas’ amused voice lingered in her ears. “Did your meeting with the spirit go well?”

Eirwen paused. He sounded close. The hot surface against her cheek rose and fell, evenly timed. She heard a soft thud in her ear, pounding steadily. The sound of a… “Solas.”  

“Yes, ma nadas?”

She glanced up, and found his blue eyes watching her. His mouth very close. She swallowed. Too close. He was here in the bed with her. Here in the bed and shirtless. In the bed shirtless with her head cradled against his shoulder. Her robe fallen open. Solas here in bed shirtless, her almost naked, bare skin pressed against his side. Her lower regions throbbed, needy. Anxious to act on the desires she thrust away. “Solas,” she repeated, unable to think of what else to say. “I…”

His fingers grasped her chin, his mouth descending to seize hers in an impatient kiss. His free hand dropped, teasing her stomach, as he took hold of her robe. His mouth moved against hers, leg parting her knees, even as he quickly tied her robe back together.

She gasped against his mouth, hot and impatient.

Solas rolled on top of her.

“I thought you weren’t going to smush,” Cole’s voice echoed distantly in her ears. “You wanted me not to think about diagrams.”

Eirwen opened her eyes as Solas finished tying off her robe.

“Forgive me,” he murmured against her mouth, “I could not reach the belt with you on your side.”

Heat exploded on her cheeks, the flush covering her whole face. Face reddened like she’d never been before, red from her neck to her hair. Eirwen collapsed back into the pillows, swallowing. Glancing left, she saw Cole standing in the middle of the room. Her voice caught. “Diagrams?”

“Dorian drew him pictures of what happens when two people,” Solas’ lips brushed her ear, “ _smush._ ”

She froze.

“You weren’t going to do it like that though.”

Rolling onto her side, Eirwen seized hold of the blankets. With a yank, she buried her burning face in the quilt’s soft threads. Her eyes shut, and she curled into a ball. A tiny moan escaped through her lips.

Solas’ warm fingers stroked her hair.

“Creators,” she mumbled. “You’re awful.”

His weight settled on her, arm curling about her waist. A smile pulled against the back of her neck, his whole body vibrating with a silent laugh.

She didn’t have the heart to shake him off.

“You’re embarrassed, but not hurt. You feel silly. Are you angry with me, Eirwen?”

Eirwen peered past the blankets. “No, Cole. If I’m angry with anyone, it’s Solas.”

“Do not blame me, ma nadas,” he murmured. “I, myself, was overcome. I’ve learned you are adorable when you wake, and I admit I am selfish. The sight of your body so undone is one I wish to savor alone.”

She hadn’t thought she could get redder.

“She is embarrassed again, Solas,” Cole said. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“I enjoy teasing her,” Solas replied.

“It’s the good kind,” Eirwen said hurriedly. “I promise.”

Cole stared at them both for a long moment.

Elbowing Solas’ ribs, she slid out from under him. Her cheeks hot as she untangled herself from the blankets and rolled off the bed. She straightened, tucking her robe around her. “I’ll get dressed.”

A quick glance at the bed and she saw him lounging, his blue-gray eyes bright. His cheeks too were slightly red. The sight of his bare chest sent a thrill through her stomach. Brows arched over his aristocratic features. He rested against the pillows, left hand resting on his knee. There was something in his expression, she thought. A confidence she hadn’t noticed before, a roguish swagger in the way the corner of his mouth lifted. His admiring eyes lingered, followed her the way hers studied him. The amused laugh hidden on his lips. She hadn’t thought of him as a lounger. He usually kept everything tucked in tight, and took up as little space as possible. Like he wanted to disappear into the background, so the world might forget him. This posture, it reminded her of Dorian. He rested on the bed like he owned it. As if he expected the world to stop and stare, but had no care for their opinions.

 _He is the Solas from my dreams,_ she thought, ducking behind the divider. She opened her pack, hurriedly pulling out a clean pair of pants and loose tunic. She stepped into her pants, hiking them up to her waist. Then, she shucked her robe. Snatching her breastband off the floor, she slipped it over her head. The tunic followed. Pushing her fingers through her short hair, she stepped back into the room. “I have to go into the forest in the morning.”

“To meet your hahren,” Cole said. “He wants to meet me too.”

Eirwen nodded. “That was what he said.”

Solas sat up off the bed. “The spirit wishes to meet with you?”

Pushing her bangs off her forehead, Eirwen combed her fingers through her hair. “The demons who’ve taken up residence in the Bann’s estate are expanding into his forest, he wants me to deal with them before they reach my people dreaming in their cairns.”

“With the nightmare under the mountain too,” Cole said. “It is old and angry, betrayed by all betrayals, but family also. _The da’vhen do not abandon family._ The nightmare will come for you if you do not go.”

“Serannas, Cole,” Eirwen sighed, crossing her arms. “That confirms what I was afraid of.”

Solas slid off the bed. Picking his tunic up off the floor, he slid it over his head. “The business in this town relates to Clan Lavellan?”

“My ancestors visited, apparently,” she said. “The trouble’s been awakened by the Breach, and if the nightmare frees itself then it’ll make everything happening up at the estates worse.” She glanced to the window. Now that Ellasin had pointed them out, she could sense the runes installed in the rock foundations at four points inside the district that marked the town’s original walls. “One of the mages installed wards here to keep the demons out, but they’ve almost failed. The… spirit promised to help me recreate them.”

Solas glanced from Cole to her, frowning. “You plan to aid this spirit in exchange for knowledge?”

“She will help because it’s right,” Cole said. “She is da’vhen, he would tell her even if she didn’t risk herself. The Little People must be protected.”

Solas frowned. “You are...  da’vhen?”

“That’s what the elga’vhen’alas call the Dalish,” Eirwen said. “Well, what they call the Clans in the Marches. They’re ha’vhen, the Big People. They protect the woods where the evalin’alas roam. Sometimes, if they’re in the mood, they offer advice or share their knowledge. That’s why I need to go speak to this one.” She glanced at Cole. “It’s all right, you don’t have to help me explain it.”

“If I don’t, you never will,” Cole said plaintively. “They taught you to hold it in. The secrets of the People are the People’s secrets and must never be spoken. Your secrets are bound in stone, buried under the mountain. Knowing begins in nothing, but that’s not all there is. Nothing isn’t known.”

“Decisions can’t be made in absence of knowledge,” Eirwen sighed. “I know.”

“They can’t know _you_ if nothing is known. You knew how to build bridges out of the rock, but didn’t want them to know you could. Secrets unworked, traveled backwards, interwoven with Chantry magic, discussions on theory. You didn’t need lyrium, but they didn’t know how else a mountain could be moved. You wanted those who thought knowledge lost to never realize it wasn’t gone.”

“That knowledge hurts more people when it is known,” Eirwen said, unwilling to look at Solas. Creators, why had Cole chosen now to have this conversation? “When the humans know the brilliance of one is the knowledge of many, they come to take what isn’t theirs.”

“And many hurt, like they were before,” Cole said. “ _We will not see the Dales burn again._ You balance out the hurts. Some must be now, so others won’t be later. You believe Ellana will win, but those who see what cannot be seen won’t forget. They’d come in the after, for the secrets that can’t be stolen, and the da’vhen will burn their Dales down.”

“We can’t make them forget us the way you can,” she said.

“You end the hurt before it comes.” Cole nodded, his chin jerking upwards. “That is why you belong to the earth.”

“Vir elvhen’alas, sky brother.”

“In desperation, few think to ask when convenient answers come,” Solas said, interjecting. His voice soft with a subtle sharpness, like he hid a blade up his sleeve. “They are merely grateful for their timely arrival. Is that why you decided to use my study at Skyhold?”

Eirwen glanced at him, and realized he watched her with curious eyes. Frowning as if he was working through a puzzle. He didn’t look angry, but he had a way of silently seething under the surface. If passion came in explosions, then anger would too. She couldn’t blame him if he was angry, she had used him after all. Well, in a way. Piggybacked the reputation he’d so carefully cultivated. “No,” she said. “Your study was convenient. You were gone often, and the Circle mages believed any spells I put together there came from you. Humans have a specific idea of what Dalish magic looks like. It’s better to play to those expectations.”

Solas’ eyes narrowed. “Those who begin with preconceived notions often find what it is they seek.”

She ran her thumb over her lip. “I hadn’t considered you volunteering to help me. That did make things easier.”

His hands tucked behind his back, his tone clipped. “Undoubtedly.”

Yes, she thought, he was angry.

“I suppose _you_ planned to pass the credit of your discoveries to me once you found a method you could point to. Few would question it and, given my isolation, might never ask me to corroborate.”

“After defeating Corypheus, you were unlikely to be staying with Inquisition,” Eirwen said. “If you disappeared, you’d have been more difficult to find and more likely to be protected. Failing that, I’d recruit Ellana and we’d pretend it was her idea. The humans think anything unusual she comes up with is a blessing from their Maker.”

Solas’ mouth pulled sideways sourly.

“You should tell her she’s brilliant,” Cole said.

“That is not…” Solas trailed off, then he sighed. “There continues to be a great deal I’ve not considered in regard to you, Eirwen. The fact you chose me rather than Dorian or Vivienne speaks highly of your observational skills. The others would find unlikely magic less suspect if believed it originated with me. You could then build roads and shelters for those refugees flocking to the Inquisition without fear of discovery.”

She frowned. “I thought you were going to be angry.”

“Your cause was noble, your strategy impeccable, and your reasoning understandable,” he said. “The shame lies with your inability to practice openly. I wish you did not live in a world where one powerful spell witnessed by the wrong eyes resulted in another Exalted March or a razing by Tevinter.”

“Or the Qunari,” she said, her voice mild. “Clan Lavellan is on the wrong side of the Vimmarks. We’re between the Marcher Lords, the Nevarran necromancers, the Tevinter Magisters, and the Qunari. The Marcher Lords just saw Kirkwall explode after the abomination destroyed the Chantry, an explosion which led to the mage rebellion and our current situation. The Qunari would see us bound and pacified, our mouths stitched shut. The forests would burn, the elga’vhen’alas would rise, and the Clans would band together. The region would explode into chaos and many more would die.”

He winced.

She paused, she hadn’t meant to mention the elga’vhen’alas. They would rise to protect their lands, to tear down those encroaching on their territory. _Coming to our aid would be as bad for them as the humans discovering our secrets would be for us._ There were so few options, even when whispers moved mountains. Her Clan hovered on the knife’s edge between war and waiting. They were tired of hiding. They were not like the Dalish she’d seen and met during her travels in this part of the world. They were not like Clan Mahariel or other scattered groups wandering in small families across the Dales. _If only the Sylva had not vanished,_ she thought as the old frustration welled up. _They might still know how to listen._ The ravens watched over the Clans of Orlais, but their Keepers did not know how to speak to them and the ravens did not defend them. The elga’vhen’alas were silent, content in their mountains and their wilds.

 _If we kill and kill and kill then there will be nothing left, and nothing left of us. The war my brothers and sisters long for will rip out our hearts. Cast us back into the Void, and for what?_ Her fingers pushed through her hair. _What do we gain treading the same paths of history? We rise and we are destroyed._ Her eyes closed and she turned away from them. _Yet, what other paths are there?_

She was just glad Cole hadn’t told Solas what it meant for a member of Clan Lavellan to ascend the mountain and join either the Elva or the Telva. Those who returned were changed, purer than they’d been before yet distant too.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not used to asking for help from those outside the Clan, or those within it.”

“Had you asked, it is likely I would have rejected the notion,” Solas said. “I am also not in the habit of risking my position to aid others, even when the goal is worthy and the reasoning sound.”

Eirwen crossed her arms. “It was still wrong to invite trouble to your doorstep without your knowledge.”

Solas sighed. “True enough, but certain contexts must still be considered.”

“He likes you too much to stay angry,” Cole added. “He can’t be angry if you do to him what he’d do if you weren’t you.”

Eirwen smiled, her arms tucking about herself. _What he probably is doing now._ She let that thought go. She and Solas were similar but they weren’t the same. “Did you come to tell us Ellana is on her way?”

“She intends make trouble for you in the way that embarrasses not batters. She wants your spirit protected, without bruises, so you can be safe.”

She couldn’t help the smile tugging at the left side of her mouth. “I expected as much.”

“She still thinks you should be her, but sometimes she wishes she was you.”

Eirwen glanced at him over her shoulder. “You don’t need to tell me, Cole.”

“Her hurt touches yours, and you soothe it. She wants the same, but she can’t see your hurt; just a still pool. You’ve been touched by so many hands and they changed you, bruised your being under the surface. Taught to lift what can’t be lifted, speak what can’t be spoken. You jumped for the stars because you knew you could reach them. You touched the old ones who’d forgotten how to feel. Iseth’s betrayal burned you when the rocks fell, but Sariel loved you so the ravens rescued you. They protected you and led you from the dark to Ada’hamin. She taught you the wandering ways so you could choose your path up the mountain. Iseth never meant to hurt you, she wanted you to see. Too much makes a monster. That fear cages you. You cling to the bars, frightened of what’s inside. You’re scared of what you’ll be when you’re whole.”

Eirwen’s hand clenched her hands, she spun around to face him. “Cole!”

Cole blinked. “I tore your tangles! I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“If you want to help, please do it when others aren’t around,” she said, not wanting to look at Solas. “That’s not… healing.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just happy to see you. I couldn’t see all the knots through the waters, you're murky and Skyhold is louder with its hurts. Solas makes it easier, you’re more you when you’re with him.”

“Cole,” Solas said, his tone mild. The warning note subtle, but present.

Eirwen sighed. _If a hole opened up beneath my feet and swallowed me, I think I’d be fine with that._ Holding back her embarrassment, she crossed to the table on the other side of the room. “I’m going to sit down. I suppose we’re not anywhere close to dawn?”

“No,” Solas sounded amused.

Eirwen eased into the chair, she almost wished he’d go back to being angry. Her eyes rose to the ceiling, listening to the surrounding silence and the soft groans overhead. Weight shifting on floorboards created old sounds for an old building. It had been a long time since she’d thought about Sariel and Ada’hamin, and longer than that when it came to Iseth. “Honestly, Cole, I figured you’d dig into the slavers first.”

“You aren’t ashamed by what you did,” Cole said. “They hurt people. They hurt you. They cut your eye open and planned to sell you to the Magisters. The gale that shakes the earth’s foundations breaks the reeds. You saved the children, that’s what matters. You don’t need the scar to remind you.”

“Ah,” Solas cleared his throat. He crossed the room and took a seat at the table. “So, that is how you received your scar.”

Eirwen sighed. She hadn't meant for him to bring up the slavers, that was another sensitive subject.  _I should've known being candid would take us there._

“When you look at Dorian, you see their eyes staring back. You should tell him.”

Rubbing her forehead, Eirwen slumped in the chair. This was so far beyond anything she wanted to discuss, though some part of her was glad Cole tore both stories out. Hearing them voiced almost helped, but it also hurt. She’d wanted to tell Solas her tale. _Cole might be right, I might not have had the courage to share all those pieces. I’ll never know now though._

“We need not discuss any of what Cole unearthed at present,” Solas said. “I’d rather know if you two plan to go alone into the forest to meet this spirit of the earth or if others will be welcome.”

Eirwen sighed. “The spirit said you could come if you wanted, but Varric and Iron Bull should stay here. The demons are planning to attack the town. There isn’t time to protect both the people and stop this nightmare.”

“The nightmare is Deception and Paranoia accompanies it,” Cole added. “The fewer within reach of their claws, the better.”

“That does complicate matters,” Solas sighed. “Do you know the nature of the spirit offering us its aid?”

“He’s Ellasin,” Cole said.

“Ellasin is a name, not his nature,” Solas leaned forward. “Did he reveal himself to you?”

“Ellasin is his name and his nature,” Cole countered.

“He’s Durgan,” Eirwen said.

Cole grinned. “He was a spirit and then he was a rock!”

Solas rubbed his forehead, frustration edging across his features. “The sylvan are spirits of rage trapped in trees. This Ellasin can be in a rock and still a spirit. He can still have a nature and a purpose.”

“Ellasin isn’t _in_ a rock, he _is_ a rock.”

Hesitantly, Eirwen reached out. When Solas didn’t move away, she gave his hand a gentle pat. “This is my world, Solas. Let me lead you through it.”

He glanced at her, blue-gray eyes tight then he sighed. “I suppose I will not discover the answer to this mystery unless I accompany you.” His fingers caught her hand before she could withdraw. “We shall discuss some of what has been aired the next time we are alone.”

Eirwen swallowed, he had that dangerous glint in his eyes again.

His thumb coursed over her knuckles. “Until then, I believe I shall enjoy _pretending_ to be in a relationship.”

Her heart stuck in her throat.

“You can’t pretend to be in a relationship when you’re in one, Solas.” Cole paused. “ _Oh_ , I see.”

Eirwen pursed her lips.

“When you’re in front of others, he’s going to behave differently than he would in private,” Cole said. “Which is normal but not. Behave the way he usually wouldn’t.”

Eirwen sucked in a breath. “I know.”

“You’re going to be very embarrassed,” Cole added.

Studying the tilting smile on Solas’ lips, Eirwen exhaled slowly. “I know that too.”

“But... you’re also going to like it.”

She nodded slowly, there probably was no getting around it. _I could tell him no,_ but she didn’t want to. She knew he’d stop if she asked. _Too easy to withdraw._ She wanted to see where this led. Her eyes glittered, her gaze on Solas. “I’m starting to think he likes games, Cole.”

“I do,” Solas said without waiting for Cole to answer, “and some games prove more enjoyable than others.”

 _I am in a lot of trouble,_ Eirwen thought. Knowing Ellana was coming hadn’t changed his behavior at all. She’d wondered if it might, but it didn’t. That meant the trouble would still be here when Ellana arrived. _I’m… okay with that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be shorter, and then Cole decided he was going to talk and the whole thing just exploded in size. Writing Cole is like... one of the hardest to get down right. You've got to alliterate, repeat, mix up words so they bounce back at each other, and then occasionally write in first person/present tense then switch back. Vague, but specific, and always just a little uncomfortable. Digging at all the things no one wants to say. Cole doesn't usually get away with it when it comes Solas, but he does sometimes when Solas is upset or happy and it's surface level. Cole is always a good instigator. (Poor Eirwen.)
> 
> I totally wandered into my own canon this chapter, but I really like the idea of there being more to the Dalish than they let on. That, and there _might_ be survivors who just don't want to talk about Solas. I couldn't resist the Fey reference with "The Little People", though "The Big People" also seemed cute.
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and the kudos! I appreciate them, and I'm glad people are reading my story. If there was anything you liked or enjoyed, please don't hesitate to let me know!


	16. Chapter 16

A few hours later when the glass turned gray as the first few rays of sunlight broke over the town, Cole left to greet Varric and Iron Bull. Solas was not entirely sorry to see the young spirit go. The conversation they’d engaged in had been uncomfortable, if illuminating. With Cole gone, he no longer needed to be on guard. No need to fear his pains and troubles being revealed if they rose too near the surface. Cole’s major focus had been Eirwen, who’d carefully avoided letting him spill her painful history and her secrets. Returned to the quiet safety of his thoughts, he’d time to contemplate. He needed to plan out his next move, aware they could not pretend Cole hadn’t shared what he did. _No, we cannot pretend._

His gaze returned to Eirwen, still at the table and reading over one of the pamphlets she’d brought with her. New information about her past, about her people, about their connection with the spirits of the earth, and Clan Lavellan’s history in this town had come quickly — too quickly for him to follow. Questions he would need weeks to sort through before framing his questions and hoping for honesty in the answers. Cole gave him the opportunity to realize those questions. Questions he’d not known he needed to ask, and let him see there was a great deal more to Eirwen than he’d previously imagined. All her stories were personal, and he’d no wish to spook her. The mystery of Ellasin could wait, as could her past with Iseth and the story behind her scar. _Such tragedy in the life of one so young._ He supposed her survival might be a miracle. She had not fallen to despair, nor been crushed beneath its weight.

All of those future discussions could wait, he reminded himself.

He focused instead on the burr lying between them, still troubled by the magical studies which first drew his attention to her. Studies, he knew now, were entirely misdirection.

Eirwen possessed the skill to build roads similar to Tevinter’s Great Imperial Highway, or rather Clan Lavellan safeguarded the knowledge. There was no need to rediscover what was lost. The spells had never been, merely secreted away in the forest. Perhaps more impressively, they could be done without blood magic or the lyrium crutch modern mages availed themselves to. Many like himself could repair what was broken, but it was another skill entirely to create something new.

Solas wanted to be angry. Knew he should be. He did not like being lied to. He did not enjoy being used but, he was forced concede, his hypocrisy only went so far. He should’ve expected she might lie to him, he supposed. That when living among humans she might not be wholly honest, especially with an unknown quantity. So, yes, Eirwen had lied to him. She’d used him and his overtures of friendship to achieve her goal. She did not require his approval, and lacked any desire to prove herself or her people to him. He’d known many a Dalish easily prodded into snapping at his disdain, revealing more than they should. Though little of what they shared was interesting. Eirwen knew what needed to be done to achieve her goal, and she did it. To be entirely honest with a stranger, even a friend from outside her Clan would mean she lacked any sense of self-preservation. An unfortunate flaw in a hunter, but fatal in a mage.

He could respect her for that, even if he did not like being the recipient. Knew too, he would have done the same in similar circumstances. The trickster he sensed insider her was alive and well, requiring no schooling to free itself. A slippery spirit, clever and grounded. Defiant in its way, unafraid. He’d a strange suspicion if she knew who he truly was and his past, she’d be less contrite. He’d simply make for a better target to slip behind. Such ruthless practicality was… attractive. Now, he saw why Ellana put such stock in her opinions and, perhaps, why their Keeper had insisted Eirwen learn to live selfishly.

Rubbing his forehead, Solas sighed.

 _They take, and they take, and they take all from you,_ the voice from the night before whispered in his mind. _They break and they abandon, and return to their old ways. They will not thank you in the end._

 _I will be dead so it hardly matters,_ he replied.

 _Nothing dead truly dies,_ the voice laughed. _You will be forced to go on, forever. Time and again, watching their betrayal. She will betray you, just as they did. There is no escape from what we are._

This time, the anger did surge.

“Solas?” Eirwen’s voice broke through his thoughts.

He glanced at her, surprised by how easily she anchored him. _So, that must be Deception,_ he thought. It was a conversational spirit. Its scrabbling metallic voice intrinsically different from the spirit named Ellasin, though he’d no doubt it could be pleasant when it wished. If this creature believed it could find hooks in him, it was quite wrong. He waved a hand. “It is nothing.”

“You’re certain you’re not angry?”

His eyes rose to where she sat at the table, her palm flat on the pamphlet of Circle spells given to her before she left. That tone, he thought, higher than normal with a slight hitch to it. Full of worry and nervous fear. He was furious, he decided, but at those who’d instilled expectation of punishment after displeasure. Calmly, he set aside his book. “I am not, Eirwen.”

She nodded, and her eyes returned to her pamphlet. Turning the page, she gnawed at her lower lip. The vague, pensive expression she wore suggesting she did not quite believe him.

Solas wondered at at that lack of trust, and then he wondered if he should convince her to put her trust in him. Perhaps not, when inevitably he would betray her gift as so many others had. Trust betrayed often enough became hard won, until finally it could not be given at all. He almost shook his head. Could love exist without trust? The thought struck him like a battering ram, slammed into his forehead and left him dizzy. Did he… did he want her to love him?

They trysted, yes, though they’d not gone beyond that. He was fond of her. Fond enough to offer a token of affection as he might to an elvhen maiden. A courting gift he’d be expected to give in accordance with his people’s traditions. A token the maid might look over in contemplation before deciding if she found his spirit to her liking, and gave him leave to pursue her. A knightly gesture reminiscent of the elf he’d been rather than the one he now was. He longed a little for lost innocence, for gallantry. When he’d believed in the noble purpose of Elvhenan, a protector rather than destroyer.

His eyes returned to Eirwen, watching her lick her thumb before turning another page. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Head tilted, resting her cheek on her fist. Fingertips pushing bangs off her brow, only for them to stubbornly flop back.

He wondered what his foolish, younger self might do, unburdened by duty, guilt, and grief. The self who’d not have spared her a second glance after drawn fully into being by Mythal, not an ignorant forest elf so below his station. _A wild elf,_ he thought with some surprise. They had existed in his time, after all. Those who lived on the edges of Elvhenan and her conquered territories, deep in the forest. Content in immortality and ignorance. Threatened every so often by Ghilnan’nain’s creatures. Hunted on occasion by Andruil when she desired sport, though they were not always the easy targets she expected. He’d known a few young nobles who’d traveled into similar woods to bring back trophies and slaves. Some were successful, while others never seen again. Outside the vallaslin marking her to Falon’din, she was very like them. Had they met in his time, it would be he who proudly wore Mythal’s vallaslin and she bare faced.

His lips twitched. _Perhaps not as one of my people, no._ Yet he could imagine her in some rich green glade, hidden away from the eyes in the skies above. Relaxed on some root raised by a helpful tree, basking in the sunlight as her it dappled her skin. Surrounded by animals and spirits, one of the freed halla resting its head on her lap. Or, perhaps, a wolf.

No, Solas thought, amused by his imagination, he’d not have spared a moment’s consideration.

Eirwen glanced at him, her sky blue eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“There’s been much to consider,” he replied, sliding to his feet. “Only a few hours remain before the sun fully rises, even the rooster has yet to crow.”

“Are there any roosters left, do you think?” she asked wryly.

He chuckled, striding across the room to where she sat at the table. “Chickens are simple creatures,” he said as he came to a stop beside her. His hand rested on the back of her chair. “I doubt the dead take much interest in them, a few may yet survive.”

Her head tilted, eyes rising to meet his as she blew her bangs off her forehead. “You answer the silliest questions with the most serious answers, Solas.”

His fingers dropped, curving her cheek. A smile played on his mouth. “Were all the chickens in town corpses, we’d be unlucky indeed.”

An amused light danced in her irises, long lashes surrounding them. Her lips tucked, hiding the beginnings of a grin. Then, she reached up. Her hand wrapped gently about the back of his head and pulled him down. He went easily, enjoying the sensation of her soft mouth pressed to his. The kiss was slow, thoughtful. A gentle kiss as her hand slid down his cheek, her lips opened. Squeaking when he swept her off the chair and up in his arms.

He almost laughed.

Surprised arms went about his neck, her back arching. “Solas!” That aroused indignation.

“Hours,” he murmured against her mouth.

Her cheeks heated with a lovely blush.

He lay her down on the bed. In the next moment he was on her again, continuing their earlier embrace. Tongue slipping between her mouth, her licked and nibbled at her lower lip. His fingers toyed with the ties of her tunic. She moaned softly, eagerly dragging him closer.

“Is this you searching for your romantic streak?” she asked, breathless when they broke for air.

“Mm,” he traced a fingertip down her ear. “I, at least, never needed to look far.”

Eirwen swallowed, wriggling into the mattress.

“If anything, I have been quite restrained,” he continued, drifting lower. “Consider all I learned during my wanderings in the Fade, the countless courtship rituals I have seen put into practice.”

Her mouth opened, simultaneously her brows frowned. Her clever mind chewing away at new information. Cogs worked behind her eyes. _Have you ever used them?_ There lay the silent question, the first and the expected.

His mouth twitched, he was beginning to enjoy this dance of theirs. The danger she represented a distant memory as fascination consumed him. Curiosity sated by watching her mind puzzle through a problem. “Shall I compose odes to your beauty and recite them?” he asked, all gallantry.

She reddened.

Attempting to keep a serious expression as the flush suffused her entire face, Solas lay cool knuckles against heated skin. “Ask for a favor to wear near my heart?”

“Like some hero in a tale,” she sighed.

 _Ah, there is the path._ The thought caught him by surprise. For Eirwen, such a course would be unexpected rather than unwelcome. She disregarded fantasy and fantastical romances, perhaps even proper courtship as simply not for her. Yet, he’d no doubt if given the opportunity she’d be hungry for the likes of _Swords & Shields _ . A quiet romance hidden in shadow and darkness was the worst approach, her battered self-esteem required he acknowledge her. Yet completely open too was wrong. _A secret,_ he thought, _a precious secret shared between two._ A quiet romance in public, perhaps, but relentless in private. She was unused to touching her emotions, cloaked herself in wholly logical practicality, and distanced herself from her hurts. Underplayed herself to drive away prying eyes, batted away and redirected interests. He wondered how many young men in her Clan had fallen for those ploys, turned their eye on more willing partners and easier prey. Who mistook distance for disinterest, and hesitance as rejection. A doe cautiously eyeing those who approached through the foliage, taking her time deciphering friend from foe. Well worth the effort befriending but requiring patience; even now, she might slip away easily as water through his fingers.

Solas smiled, running a thumbpad over her lips. A game of masks, and silliness, and secrets might be precisely what she needed.

“You are very strange,” Eirwen said. “Every time I think I have you a little figured out, the board rotates and I need to start all over.”

“I might say the same,” he replied. “You are a mystery, one well worth the effort spent pondering.”

She giggled. “I’m not that complicated.”

Gently, he kissed her again. She relaxed in his arms, drawing him closer as the last of his weight and his feet left the ground. He collapsed on her and her head turned, grinning, to find his mouth again. He liked the way she smiled when she kissed, like she shared a secret. Secrets not so easily given nor witnessed, a secret for him and for her. As his mouth moved against her lips, he wondered what her song sounded like. Her lips parted, teasing his tongue with the tip of hers. Arms tightening about his neck, she drew him in. Laughing, he cupped her cheek with his fingers. He did not feel alone in her arms. The strain and stress unknotted, fell away. His sorrow a lingering ache.

Sprawled on the bed, they kissed. When they finally broke again for air, Solas rolled off onto his side. He was content to leave it there. Lying next to her on the bed, stroking her cheek and pushing back her bangs as they stubbornly flopped across her brow. In silence, he memorized the planes of her face and listened to her gentle breathing.

Eirwen traced him with her eyes, wandering down the curve of his cheek to his mouth then up. “Shall we play a trick on Ellana?”

He frowned. Such tricks were dangerous, they might make the situation worse. Ellana would not be pleased by the development between them, and he did not know the Inquisitor well enough to guess. “A trick, you say?”

“Mhmm.” Her sky blue irises sparkled, reddened lips pulling into a lopsided grin. “Maybe help Iron Bull at the same time.”

 _Ah,_ he smiled. “A matchmaking ploy, the reverse of what was done to us perhaps?”

Her fingertip tapped his nose. “I think we deserve a chance to get some of our own back.”

 _From blushing maiden to teasing trickster without pause,_ if he did not know better, it might be easy to forget she was still a virgin. What she lacked in carnal knowledge, she made up with an excellent sense of play. He enjoyed her complexity, her quickness. Truly, she was dizzying. If he did not focus, he would not keep up. “What would you suggest?”

She wiggled forward, pressing her lips to his.

He could not help but smile. “You’ve no idea.”

“I have a concept,” Eirwen murmured against his mouth, “what I lack is a plan.”

Solas laughed.

She smiled.

His fingers stroked her cheek. “From what I’ve learned of your ability to strategize, this should prove fascinating.”

“Oh no,” Eirwen said. “I’m afraid she’d see me coming.”

Chuckling, he tucked a few stray bangs behind her ear. Now, there was an idea. Ironic, in its own way, asking him to be trickster. “You are suggesting I develop a plan of attack?”

Eirwen grinned. “I think you’re cleverer than you let on. However, you lack the personal experience and knowledge of the landscape to develop a true assault. She won’t expect you, but I know her better. So,” her eyes glimmered with mischief, “together.”

“Together,” he agreed without thinking.

She clasped his hand in hers, smiling merrily. “Good!”

 _If I’d had you then I might never…_ the thought stopped him cold. She lured him in without effort, yet she was barely more than a youth. Raised and trained in the ways of her people, wise perhaps but ignorant also. A child, no matter how brilliant, could never withstand the full weight the Evanuris might bring to bear. He’d not seen her machinations when she came to him, but the idea her clear eyes might see through those ancient beings which set themselves as the gods was patently ridiculous. Besides, how might she have helped him? _I am no longer a gambler._ Were her people so capable Felassan or Mythal would’ve made use of them before now. He did not know why his mind turned that direction. His eyes fell.

“Solas?” she asked.

“I am afraid I got ahead of myself, such a ploy would not be appropriate,” he said. “The risks involved are too great, and might distract the Inquisitor from her duty.”

Propping herself up, Eirwen rested a cheek on her fist. Her left brow rose, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. “The same way I’m distracting you from yours?”

He glanced at her, surprised.

“You’ve an interesting habit of projecting your worries onto others,” she said. “I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t so familiar with the signs. I’ve done it too, burying myself in work or adventure as a means to escape… well, me.” She rolled onto her back. “Guilt is a terrible burden, worse perhaps than the mistake itself.” Her sad eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her gaze far away, lost in whatever moment from her past she relived. “There’s nowhere to run when the shame stains your soul.”

“I cannot…” he paused. “What is it that caused you to become so ashamed?”

Eirwen glanced at him. “Being alive.”

His breath caught.

Her eyes softened, then she sat up. “I’m going to see if the kitchen is open.”

Solas paused, she couldn’t possibly end the conversation there. He’d almost seen it, the flames reflected in her eyes. Heard the screams, the whispers echoing back to him in the deadened air. The rippling magic, a strengthened aura ready to carry him into memory. He saw tearstained cheeks and horrified eyes, a forest in flames. Those young eyes filled with burning rage, boiling men in metal. _You shemlen!_ There in the echoes, there in the shadows. _You love fire so much! You can burn!_ No more than a child, watching what she loved die. _Burn! Burn! Burn!_ Fires in the grove, catching across the woods. The memory of torches reflected on snow. _BURN!_

Eirwen crossed the room, walking with none of the weight he expected.

“Ada’hamin, the forest spirit,” he said as the memory came. “She sheltered you, and she died.”

She froze mid stride.

His hand clenched on the blankets. _I should not have spoken._

“She didn’t, but she was wounded. They were Templars stationed in the Marcher City Hasmal.”

He blinked.

Eirwen turned, just enough so her eyes glinted in the candlelight. “I’d just turned nine, and I was returning home from one of my adventures.”

“They came for you,” he said.

“No,” she shook her head. “The villagers in the towns between Hasmal and Tantervale would leave offerings in Ada’hamin’s wood. They wished for good fortune, blessings on the crops, or fulfillment of love. They were careful of which trees they cut, and avoided the deep woods. They didn’t know what lived there, but they knew it was old.” She paused. “That spring, the Templars had a new commander. Fresh from Orlais. He heard of the pagan practices, appeasing spirits, and they came for Ada’hamin. A whole troop tromping through the forest, they set fire to everything. When I arrived the trees were screaming, the wood blackened. Nothing but smoke and flame and ash. As they plunged their blades into her, the trees gave me their strength.”

His eyes widened. “You killed them.”

“Yes, I killed them,” she said. “All of them, every single human, even the ones who came to try and stop the fire. They wanted to stop the Templars from hurting the forest, but I was rage by then. I knew nothing except vengeance, every human was my enemy. Linked with Ada’hamin’s consciousness, I channeled the raw power of the Fade. I woke the forest. The trees rose up and killed the humans.” A sad smile tugged the side of her mouth. “In our fury we brought the wildfire to the villages, and finally Hasmal itself. It burned, all of it.” She laughed, a brittle bitter laugh. “In the end, I don’t think they even knew what they were coming for.” Her fingers pushed into her hair. “As Iseth always said, too much makes a monster.”

Solas sighed. “You were a child and Iseth was a fool.”

EIrwen glanced at him sadly. “And as a child possessed by the spirits of the elder wood, I killed somewhere upwards of fifty thousand souls. Humans, dwarves, the mages and templars who came to stop me, the nobles with their armies in my path. Not even the city elves in their Alienage were safe.” Her hands tucked behind her back. “We probably would’ve kept on killing, with every death we grew stronger. Our anger hot enough to burn the whole world.”

“Yet you stopped,” he said.

“Yes.” Eirwen’s eyes fell. “The elder wood and I, we woke up. On the battlements above the Hasmal keep, overlooking the devastation. There weren’t even screams, just silence under a red sun and smoke blackened sky. We went to war as one, and we woke the same way.”

He studied her, unsure what to say. A certain sort of envy filled him. She had someone to share her sorrow, share her guilt, her culpability in what she’d done. Besides, could a nine year old truly be blamed? No, no matter the devastation a child was a child. How she’d avoided a fate as an abomination in this world was a different question entirely, and where such incredible power emerged from was another. He knew the so-called abominations were significantly more powerful than the average mage, yet they were also mutated and maddened. Possessed by corrupted spirits. He would sense another in her body, surely. “You are not an abomination.”

“No.” She crossed her arms. “The elga’vhen’alas aren’t like normal spirits, or demons looking to possess a body. Through Ada’hamin I harbored their collective will and consciousness. Their power joined with mine, but I was just a vessel. There were demons of Rage drawn from the Fade who became sylvans, just as many drove the Hasmal Circle Mages mad, and leapt into the fallen, but they didn’t possess me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Afterwards was a different story. I was a year in healing. Required three elven mages to keep a rotating watch on my dreams day and night. They kept the demons I’d drawn at bay. I had to relearn how to control my magic. I couldn’t for almost two years.” Sighing, she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “I haven’t fully released since then. I don’t know what will happen if I do.”

Solas swallowed. What she’d spoken of, such magic had not been uncommon in the days of Elvhenan. It was possible then to take a spirit into your body, especially when the spirit did not desire a body of its own. Possible to work together in partnership, with the knowledge of one feeding the power of the other. _Yet to do such a thing to a child?_ He had not come across this event in the Fade, though he recalled hearing distant stories and put them aside as superstition. Always, he heard stories only of demons and the Chantry mages who went mad. “I suppose what happened then is not unlike what is occurring now,” he said. “The demons coming through the Veil’s tears to enact chaos on the landscape.”

“Oh no,” Eirwen smiled. “This was worse. For whatever reason, Corypheus lacks imagination to use what he has. That, or total destruction doesn’t appeal. The demons are mostly content to wage minor chaos.” She shook her head. “On that count, we should be grateful. If you want, you should ask Cullen about the Demon Fire in 9:29 Dragon, or Vivienne, or Varric. I’m sure they’ve their own stories or theories on what happened.” Her lips twitched. “You may not want to tell them about me though.”

“No,” he agreed. “In the current climate, such a decision would be unwise.”

“In any climate,” she said.

Slowly, he nodded. Between what Cole had revealed earlier and what she spoke of now, he found himself at a bit of a loss. “They did not connect the events to your clan?”

Eirwen shrugged. “If they believed the fire was caused by a Dalish elf, the Divine would have called an Exalted March. But I was too young to wear the vallaslin, and the forest’s rage overtook the dreams of some twenty mages who arrived to stop me. In the presence of the forest, they went mad. Driven to frenzy, they turned on Hasmal’s defenders.” Her eyes fell. “In the end, the Chantry called for a Right of Annulment and Templars from Tantervale purged the Circle.”

His heart stopped. _Yes, of course, the fools._ When disaster struck, there must be someone to blame. If that individual could not be found, they fell on the convenient victim. Someone must be made responsible for all the people suffered. No battle existed without collateral damage. The humans did not think of the land as a living, breathing creature. The deep woods alive with a magic all their own. “I see,” he sighed. “They could not burn the whole forest down, so they settled on the only victims available.”

Eirwen smiled. “Vengeance doesn’t discriminate, Solas.”

Cole had not brought this up, beyond her fear of what might happen if she ever took on so much power again. Surely he would have, if it troubled her still. If the stain etched into her soul remained. _Ada’hamin._ Yet, Compassion did not. _She no longer requires his aid, not in this._ She healed, somehow. Other wounds remained, but this one knitted itself shut.

“I hated myself, for a long time,” she continued. “I hated what I’d done, what I allowed myself to do, but mostly I hated myself for surviving.” Slowly, she turned on her heel and moved toward the door. “I battered myself against the pain, and every mistake became a reflection of that failure. My loathing for what I’d done infected everything I did. I built myself into the model of what I believed a Keeper should be, but nothing was ever enough. And then...”

“You let them go,” he said, disgusted.

Eirwen paused, hand on the doorframe. She sighed. “I realized my grief stood in the way of protecting what I wanted to save.” Glancing back over her shoulder, she found his eyes. “So, I let the pain go.”

He blinked. She hadn’t let the past go, hadn’t lost the memory, just the pain. _How?_ “You would not change then!” he couldn’t stop the bitterness. “Not even if it were possible, you would not fix it? Say with time magic, kind the Inquisitor and I encountered in Redcliffe. The skill Dorian and the Magister Alexius pioneered. Given the option, you would not take it?”

Her expression changed, and he saw pity. “No spell in all the world can save us from ourselves, Solas. Going back in time wouldn’t have made Alexius a better father.” She waved a hand. “Oh, he might have saved his son from the Blight, and in the act doomed him some other way. Ellana destroyed a future, but even if Corypheus is defeated there’s nothing to say someone else won’t take his place. He is not the only monster of his kind in this world. One evil gone just gives another opportunity to rise. Mistakes and misfortune persist regardless.”

Solas swallowed. He quickly forgot the sharpness of her sight, too quickly. She had a special quality, lured him into a false sense of security. Where he felt free to say what he liked. Yet, what she just said sounded very much like what he told Dorian when the latter tried to apologize for Arlathan. _I must learn to stop underestimating her._ Her wisdom was extraordinary, and not simply for her age. She cut far too close to the truth, simply on accident.

“If I hadn’t been there, Ada’hamin would’ve been alone in her grove with her spirit wounded and body destroyed by Templars. I was a convenient catalyst, but I wasn’t the only one available. Ada’hamin is hahrel’adahl, an elder tree. She’s the forest itself. She always possessed the power to destroy every human settlement in the March. The people of Hasmal paid a heavy price, but it could’ve been worse.” With a sigh, she opened the door. “The only way to save ourselves is to face our mistakes, accept we did the best we could, and try to learn from them.” Quietly, she studied the floor. “You should decide if you’re comfortable with a mass murderer.”

“You were a child,” he repeated. “You cannot be held accountable.”

Eirwen smiled. “The facts are what they are, Solas. The decision is whether to share the burden with those who love us. Virsa’shiral, lethallin.”

 _We travel as one._ Solas stared at her, watched the smile on her face grow rueful. Without another word, she disappeared out the door. His heart sank. The sensation felt like she was walking out of his life. She might, he thought, if he let her go. If he let her go. _If…_ he closed his eyes. Perhaps they were kindred spirits in a way. Solas pushed his fingers up his forehead.

The power she’d spoken of, that might be worth investigating. Ada’hamin, one of Eirwen’s elga’vhen’alas. A spirit of the earth, just like the spirit they would travel to meet. The one called Ellasin. A realization hit then, and he laughed. “You continue to provide me exits and the opportunity to leave.”

He did not doubt her story was true, and he’d sensed some of the memories lingering around her. Sensed it, almost as if she were one of his people. She’d taken on a spirit too and gone to war for in the name of its grievances, though he did not quite understand what she meant about this elga’vhen’alas possessing a body. _I suppose I must see._ Sighing, Solas shook his head. If she ever learned to summon the strength she’d had as a child of nine, she’d be a formidable opponent; possibly even if he possessed his foci. A strength she ought to recover, they desperately needed such power. Power she’d not used against Corypheus at Haven, nor against the Red Templars. Powerful then, yes, but only slightly outside convention.

The power she’d spoken of...

 _No,_ he thought, she could not have become so strong on her own. It was as she said, the strength came from the spirits. These spirits who never revealed themselves, like the elven mages who guarded her dreams. _There are too many hands in this, it is almost as if…_ he paused. _I cannot be facing a survivor of Elvhenan, one who retained their immortality. She is mortal however, banalvhen. One of the People cannot be guiding her Clan._ Felassan assured him the modern elves were unaware of surviving ancients. Their knowledge and spellcraft destroyed by Tevinter, only fragments remained.

He held out his hand, fingers clenching into a fist. “I will not abandon this.”

And did not know which _this_ he spoke of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates! Yay! I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just a collection of one shots involving Eirwen's experiences in the Inquisition if she wasn't Inquisitor and another Lavellan was. I guess it'll be multichapter, since I somehow managed to write twenty pages single spaced in a few days and that'd be a lot to post straight. 
> 
> As for why I wrote this fic, I sort of wanted to see who'd she'd be. I'd intended the other Lavellan, Ellana, to be in a relationship with Solas. Habit got the better of me, I guess. I'm sort of playing with the tropes I don't like, which happened on it's own. The kind Eirwen would never tolerate were she in a position of authority over Solas or required to look after the Inquisition. There'll be sex in the future, definitely. Lots and lots and lots of dream smooches too. The question, I suppose, is would Solas still be attracted to Eirwen if she didn't have the Anchor? Which he is (though he wouldn't be in game.) I mean, given how long I've been writing these two that shouldn't be a surprise.
> 
> I will say she wasn't supposed to fall head first into a relationship with Solas. Solas went there anyway. Damn that dude, he's probably gonna be a little OOC with a bit more Fen'Harel.
> 
> On Ellana, I don't know what will happen with her yet. Ellana Lavellan is a Dalish Hunter and a rogue. She's hasty, hotheaded, leads with her gut, and gets rather insecure when the people she wants to like her don't. Despite everything, her position as Inquisitor is the first time she's been a leader. She follows better, and she finds handling Inquisition business dreadful and taxing.
> 
> The song Eirwen quotes is "Suledin" from the DA wiki.
> 
> lath sulevin  
> lath araval ena  
> arla ven tu vir mahvir  
> melana ‘nehn  
> enasal ir sa lethalin
> 
> Be certain in need,  
> and the path will emerge  
> to a home tomorrow  
> and time will again  
> be the joy it once was
> 
> I mostly went with the default name because I'm lazy. If your Inquisitor is named Ellana then I'm sorry for the confusion.
> 
> Comments and commentary are always appreciated. I love hearing from you all.


End file.
